Intended Target
by alice.in.ink
Summary: After Ziva is nearly assassinated, the team begins an investigation. As the case goes on, more lives are put on the line. The team must race for their lives to find out who is orchestrating the attacks before someone's life is taken. Established Tiva
1. Strike

_**Chapter 1. Strike.**_

It had been a calm morning. Tony was still relatively groggy from a late night last night—at a fellow agent's apartment, nonetheless-, and McGee had been ignorant of his surroundings, too absorbed with new computer software. Gibbs was in Autopsy, chatting with Ducky, and Ziva had yet to arrive at work, which might have to do with the fact that Tony had left a rather large hickey on the side of her neck. Not that it was a hickey; if you asked her, she would claim she was hit in the neck during a karate session.

Despite the relaxed atmosphere that surrounded the NCIS building, something was amiss. Gibbs felt it in his gut, his biggest indicator despite the criticism it caused him.

"Jethro?" Ducky called Gibbs's attention back to their conversation. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Yeah, Duck," Gibbs agreed, still slightly absentminded. He forced himself to return to their conversation; there was nothing occurring in his life that should cause his gut feelings, anyways.

Ducky narrowed his eyes at Gibbs, curious as to what was on his friend's mind, but chose to carry on with his story instead of asking.

…

"I am wearing a tortoiseneck," Ziva complained to her boyfriend on the phone as she drove to work. It was true. To sheath the bruise that Tony had left upon her neck, she had been forced to wear the maroon colored shirt.

"Turtleneck," Tony corrected, slightly smirking. He was proud of himself for leaving the bite on her. It only made him hungry for more.

"Yes, whatever," Ziva waved him off. "All the same, it is the middle of summer, Tony. It does look a little suspicious wearing a long-sleeved shirt."

"Everyone already knows we're a couple," he reminded her. A flashback of being walked in on in the janitor closet—by Gibbs of all people—replayed in his head, caused him to wince.

"I know that, Tony," she stated bluntly. "I am just saying that people may question why I am wearing such odd attire in the middle of the hottest season in the year."

Tony squinted his eyes, not believing what she was saying. "Ziva, I don't know who you run into on a daily basis, but I doubt anyone will ask a girl why she is wearing a certain shirt. Who seriously sees those things?"

Ziva raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying that you have honestly never stared at a woman's shirt, Tony?"

Tony cleared his throat and straightened his tie. "That's an irrelevant matter, Zi-VAH."

Ziva smiled, knowing that she had caught her prey, whether he was willing to admit it or not.

He hurried to change the subject. "When will you get here? Every time I try to strike up a conversation with McGeek, he rattles on about his motherboard. I'm in desperate need of actual human contact, not robot alien ramblings."

"No such thing as a robot alien, Tony," McGee chimed in, having heard his name during the phone call.

"Shut it, McDweeb!" Tony ordered his partner. "Don't deny what you are!"

Ziva smiled. "I will be there in approximately five minutes."

Tony smiled, too. "Bless your sweet soul. Love you."

She smiled once more at his words. "Love you, too."

She hung up and put her phone away. She was happy, thrilled even, that she finally had someone in her life to tell that she loved them. Her father was too much of an authority figure in her life to receive that kind of affection. She had never felt undividedly loved by her father, but when she was with Tony, she felt those feelings. It was a glorious change.

Ziva gripped the wheel, speeding and weaving past those who were unfortunate enough to share the road with the risky Israeli.

Just then, a motorcyclist wove up to drive steadily along side her car. Ziva glanced at him, always suspicious of her surroundings. His all black attire reminded her of a man she had chased years before. The memories sent her instincts wild, her hand itching to reach for the gun holstered to her side.

The man's dark helmet turned in her direction and then back towards the road as he sped away.

'_Calm down_, _Ziva_,' she forced herself to think. '_Not every individual on a motorcycle is a threat_.'

But her gut feelings refused to relent. As a compromise, she took the back streets for the rest of the drive, driving through various alleyways and unknown pathways, just in case he was tailing her.

She turned on the radio, hoping it would calm her irrational tension. At least, that's what she assumed it was: irrational. Her viewpoint on that matter changed when three feet ahead of her speeding car, dead center in the road, was a black object. The black backpack reminded her all too well of her training in Mossad. It was a bomb.

As fast as she was capable, she shoved the gear into reverse and slammed her foot on the accelerator. But Ziva was out of luck; either someone was watching her and knew when to detonate the bomb, or they had timed the explosion perfectly. Either way, the bomb exploded just as she hit the accelerator, sending an explosion ricocheting into the underbelly of her car.

Ziva's arms covered her face in defense as her car flew and rolled to the passenger's side, followed by a roll that sent it upside-down, and then a final, rickety settlement on the driver's side. Her windshield had been shattered completely and torn open at various edges.

Slightly shaking, she lowered her arms to see cuts from glass imbedded into her tan skin. Other than those injuries and a few minor bruises, Ziva seemed to have been rescued by her seatbelt and airbags. She pulled her seat belt off and began crawling to the passenger's window, the only side open to her.

Once she emerged, she looked around as she pulled out her gun. Her attacker had to be close by. He would have wanted to see the explosion for himself.

But as she scanned the area, she saw no signs of life. She was in an alley that was channeled by the backsides of various department stores, none of which had opened yet. It appeared as if she was alone, but she knew she was being watched. She could feel their eyes on her skin.

That was when shots were fired. From the rooftop, bullets rained down, all aimed at the NCIS agent. She reacted immediately, quickly ducking for cover behind her car. Her years as a Mossad agent trained her into being capable of dodging the deadly metal as she did so.

Ziva, already having her gun drawn, began to fire back as soon as she reached the shelter of her car. The stand off continued as Ziva's bullets began to quickly and dangerously recede. She was able to fight her opponent off until, finally, the attacker's fire ceased. She couldn't tell if she hit the shooter or not. Either way, she would stay where she was until she had her backup. Her pride only allowed her to dial for one person in particular.

"Gibbs," she murmured into her cellphone. "I need you to come down here."


	2. A Professional Hit

_**Chapter 2. A Professional Hit.**_

Gibbs had received Ziva's slightly desperate call and reacted instantly. He listened to her pleas to not get the rest of the team involved just yet. After all, who knew what she even needed? All she told him was that she needed him at an address. So he went without a word to his unknowing team.

But when he came to the crime scene, he paused for a moment, wondering if he should have brought the team all the same. He recognized Ziva's car smashed and broken on its side. Bullet holes lined the dented metal, causing Gibbs to draw his gun.

"Ziva?" he called out, not seeing the Israeli. He became worried for his agent, but reminded himself that she sounded fairly alright when she called him. But you never really knew with the former Mossad agent; if she was dying, she would rather sit in silence than cry out.

Gibbs's worries were partially calmed when Ziva's head bobbed up from behind her car.

"Gibbs," she breathed, relieved to see her silver haired boss. She began managing her way out of the mess of metal she had hid in as Gibbs assessed the scene.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded as he lowered his weapon.

Ziva sighed as walked to meet him. "I was taking the backstreets to work, merely as a precaution, when a bomb was planted in front of my car. I tried to backpedal when it exploded. As soon as I exited the car after the explosion, someone began shooting from the roof. I took cover under my car and called you."

Gibbs lifted her arms and examined them. The sleeves of the turtle neck had been shredded by the glass, exposing bits of the bloody cuts that lined her arms. "You should see Ducky," he spoke.

Ziva gave a small smile, grateful to be safe again.

"Ya know, I'm going to have to call the team in for this," he reminded her.

Ziva gave a nod. She knew this was inevitable, but she hated showing weakness to anyone. She was afraid that if anyone else saw her in a vulnerable state, she could never regain her armor around them again. Gibbs was truly the only person who had seen her vulnerable, but she would never say that aloud. Instead, she used another excuse as to why she originally hadn't wanted the team. "I trust no one better. I just wished that Tony and McGee would not see me cowering behind my car; I would never hear the end of it."

Gibbs smiled to himself, easily imagining the men's witty remarks. But Gibbs knew teasing wasn't the underlying reason she didn't want the team called in. Gibbs knew some secrets of hers that no one else did, and he understood her motives silently. He wouldn't push her on them.

Besides, Gibbs knew Ziva would reveal them to Tony one day. She valued their relationship, and would trust him completely. One day.

…

"Why didn't you call me?" DiNozzo murmured to Ziva later after the team arrived at the scene.

"I called Gibbs," she reminded.

"Are you getting us confused? Because I would hate to get mistaken for Gibbs. I mean, I don't look _that_ old, do I?" Just as Tony shuddered for effect, Gibbs walked by, delivering a smack to the back of Tony's head as he did so.

"Right!" Tony cheered. "I'll just be getting back to work, Boss!"

Ziva rolled her eyes. "I called Gibbs, and he called you."

"Just call me if something like this happens to you again," he compromised, taking a step towards her and placing his hands comfortingly on her arms.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You believe that this will happen to me again, Special Agent DiNozzo?"

Tony snorted as a smirk grew on his face, dropping his hands from her arms. "Come on, it's not like it's the first time someone tried to blow you up. Odds are you'll piss someone else off, and it'll happen again."

Ziva just smiled back at the arrogant agent as she raised her hands to his shoulders, thumbs going into the collarbone. She squeezed the pressure points located there, causing him to squirm, as she muttered through her forced smile, "You are sleeping on the couch tonight."

Tony nodded, his face distorted as he attempted to shrink away from her grasp. She easily released him and patted his cheek before turning on her heel and reentering the crime scene.

"Nine millimeter," McGee announced as he pulled a slug out of the underbelly of Ziva's car. He placed it in an evidence bag before turning to Gibbs. "There's about twenty of 'em here, Boss."

Gibbs gave McGee a nod as he continued to survey the scene. "DiNozzo. Did you find anything from where the shots were fired?"

Tony snapped to attention. "Well, no, Boss. I just got here."

Gibbs just stared wordlessly at the senior field agent, and Tony stared back in confusion. Suddenly comprehension sprang to DiNozzo's features.

"Ah! I'll go there now," Tony claimed. Gibbs raised his eyebrows in approval as Tony continued, "You sly dog, you."

Gibbs smirked to himself as he walked towards Ziva. Ducky was dressing her wounds, something that she found completely unnecessary.

"My dear, if you do not stop squirming, I will wrap your arms together," Ducky threatened, his mounting frustration etched upon his face.

Ziva sighed and leaned against the ambulance that had been called in. She had declined its need, but Gibbs claimed that one was protocol. She wasn't sure if she believed him, but she chose not to question it.

"Sorry, Ducky," she muttered absentmindedly. "I am just scratching to get out into the field and catch whoever did this."

Ducky chuckled as he secured the gauze. "I believe the term you are looking for is 'itching.' But I do sympathize with you. Rest assured, if all else fails, Jethro will catch him or her."

Gibbs walked up, still wearing his smirk from Tony's last comment. "You've got a lot riding on me, Duck."

Ducky stepped away from Ziva, having finished dressing her injuries, and faced Gibbs. "I have been told that I trust too easily, but I believe my faith in you is well deserved."

Gibbs phone then rang, which he answered by stating his last name.

"I'm at the spot now, Boss," Tony declared through the other end of the phone.

Gibbs turned towards the agent who was now standing on the rooftop and spoke, "Do you see any shell casings?"

Tony scanned the area. "Negative, Boss. There is a tasty looking bag of Doritos here though." He picked up the bag and looked inside, considering his options.

"Don't eat the evidence, DiNozzo," Gibbs reminded him sternly. It wasn't the first time Gibbs had to advise his agent of this order.

Grudgingly, Tony placed the bag of chips in an evidence bag. His empty stomach protested with a large growl, due to the fact that his morning session with Ziva had caused him to miss breakfast. And because Tony had continued to smack the vending machine for free food, Vance revoked Tony's vending machine privileges. The Doritos were sadly looking like a great breakfast alternative.

"There's some blood here," Tony stated, taking a swab from it with a Q-Tip. "There's not a lot of it. Ziva probably just nicked him."

"That'll get us a name. See anything else?" Gibbs inquired.

Tony looked around, not really seeing much of anything except the cement rooftop. Out of the corner of his eye, Tony noticed something other than the grey cement. Tucked neatly in the corner of the roof was a small piece of paper, rectangular in shape. Tony walked towards it, picking it up from the ground. The white card had no threats, no writing, only a picture. A picture of Ziva David, smiling and laughing in a restaurant.

"Got a card," Tony informed Gibbs, swallowing the lump in his throat. "It's got a picture of Ziva on it. Looks to be a professional hit."

Gibbs stared at the irritated Ziva who was tapping her foot impatiently.

"What is it?" she asked, leaning away from the ambulance.

"Someone was sent to kill you," Gibbs filled her in.

Ziva snorted. "It certainly is not the first time, Gibbs."

"But they haven't succeeded yet, Ziva," Gibbs reminded her. "And they'll be after you again soon."


	3. An Urgent Message

**Bless you all for your sweet responses. :)**

_**Chapter 3. An Urgent Message.**_

Ziva and Tony were separated by the length of the couch. Tony, alert and bored, began thrumming his fingers against the armrest. He made a popping sound with his mouth, trying to fill the empty silence.

Ziva, sitting on the opposite end of the couch as Tony, wordlessly twirled the end of her ponytail over and over again through her fingers.

The couple had been sitting like this for the past five minutes, ever since they walked into Ziva's apartment.

All day, Team Gibbs had been working every lead they had to identify Ziva's attacker but had made nearly no progress due to the fact that Abby was gone for the day at a forensic convention in Tennessee. The happy Goth was on the first flight over at nine o'clock tonight, unable to find an earlier direct flight.

In all, the team had realized someone was after Ziva, and that the person probably didn't know her on a personal level.

Gibbs realized it was practically nothing to go on but could do nothing about it until his forensic scientist returned from her trip. Therefore, he sent a team to sweep Ziva's apartment—which was unable to uncover a single bug, killer, nor explosive-stationed an agent outside of her door, and ordered DiNozzo to take the first shift of protection detail.

So here the couple sat in an awkward silence, hoping that the other would strike up a conversation. It was Ziva that finally spoke up.

"Tony," she began, "just because you are protection detail does not mean that you have to just sit here. We could still make it feel like a quiet night at home."

Tony nodded quickly. "Yeah, we can do that. I mean, it's not like we have to be awkward or anything."

Ziva snorted. "Definitely not."

And the couple's silence resumed. They sat, staring at nothing and saying nothing. It was the reappearance of Tony's popping noises that jolted the two to speak at the same time.

"I am going to take a shower," Ziva announced at the same time Tony asked, "Should I make popcorn?"

The two smiled at each other as they rose to their feet.

Ziva stepped towards him and negotiated, "You make the popcorn while I take a shower." She turned on her heel and began walking down the small hallway, into the bathroom they had just recently begun sharing since Tony's move into Ziva's apartment.

Tony watched with a hungry look as she sauntered off. "Is there room for two in your shower?"

He listened eagerly as she turned the faucet on, hoping for an invitation, but only heard her laugh as a reply.

"In due time, DiNozzo," he encouraged himself. "In due time."

Tony began making the popcorn, trying to recall a movie with a sex scene that would make Ziva need the real thing.

* * *

><p>In the hallway, Agent Lang stood, having been tasked with the ludicrous task of guarding the door. He hated pointless details like this. Instead of watching the baseball game tonight, Leon had ordered him to stand in a hallway. Honestly, if an NCIS agent was stationed inside, what was he even doing here?<p>

Agent Lang glanced at his watch, dismayed to realize that the baseball game was probably just now ending. This duty was such a waste of everyone's time.

At least, that's what Agent Lang thought at the time. But right then, he was ignorant of the fact that someone was watching him.

* * *

><p>Ziva was shampooing her hair, humming an old Israeli song that she had learned as a girl. She began rinsing the soap from her hair when she felt the off, eerie sensation of being watched. After rinsing the rest of the soap from her face, she opened her eyes and looked around. Nothing was out of place, but she still felt the eyes on her.<p>

_'Must be Tony,'_ she thought with a smile. After all, how could anyone have entered her apartment without a commotion from both of the stationed NCIS agents?

She peeked out behind the shower curtain, hoping to catch Tony in the action of snooping outside of her shower. But when she looked, no one seemed to be there.

'_Just a long day,'_ she thought to herself, trying to calm her fried nerves. _'There's no way anyone could have made it past Lang and Tony.'_

Although she tried, the feelings of being watched resisted being buried. Trying to get out of the vulnerable state that the shower offered, she hurried to massage the conditioner through her hair so that she could rejoin Tony and her gun.

* * *

><p>Tony was watching the popcorn bag expand with each kettle's explosion before the microwave declared that the bag was finished. He pulled the bag out, still roaming the edges of his mind for the movie that would turn Ziva on without making it bluntly obvious what his plan was.<p>

That was when he heard a small scuffle from outside the apartment door. It was just audible enough to be classified as a small sound, perhaps a duffle bag dropping to the ground.

Tony paused for a moment to hear more but heard nothing more than Ziva's shower water shutting off.

Slowly, he walked towards the door, listening for anymore sounds. "Lang?" he questioned hoping the agent would respond and quench his suspicions.

"Tony," Ziva called from the bathroom as she wrapped a towel around herself. "Is the popcorn finished?"

Still a little perplexed, Tony turned away from the door and towards the breath-taking Israeli. "Yeah, it just finished." He met Ziva in the tiny hallway, mesmerized by the beauty she radiated. Her simple radiance made him want to skip over the seducing movie altogether and cut to the rest of the night's events.

"I was thinking we could watch a movie," he suggested with a small, lovely smirk.

Ziva smiled back, noticing the way his pupils dilated when he looked at her. She knew what he really wanted, but she enjoyed making him ask for it all the same. She leaned forwards and met his mouth in a kiss, hinting at what she had in store for him that night.

Tony kissed back, trying to reign in the eagerness that threatened to overwhelm him. He wouldn't act that desperate.

"Or skip the movie," he suggested between kisses.

Ziva regained her fading smile, knowing her plan was working.

Suddenly, a thud slammed into the wooden apartment door.

The couple broke apart, looking towards the source of the sound.

"Stay back," Tony ordered Ziva as he pulled out his gun.

Ziva pulled the towel she wore tighter across herself before snatching a gun from underneath the couch. Tony rolled his eyes at her as she remained right on his tail.

In a quick move, Tony yanked open the door, but he was pulled forward at the surprisingly heavy weight that the door possessed. At least, it seemed surprising at first. That was before he looked up and noticed what was attached to the thick wood.

Agent Lang, now staring at nothing for eternity, had a bloody cut sliced across his throat. His white dress shirt had been stabbed into the door with a knife, so as to keep him suspended against the wood. Underneath the knife and dress shirt, also stabbed into the door, was a white sheet of paper.

"What does the paper say?" Ziva asked, looking down the hallway for any suspects running away.

Tony looked closer at it, careful not to touch anything without latex gloves. He hesitated before speaking. "You better call Gibbs. The killer left us a list."

"A list of what?" Ziva asked, reaching for her phone.

"All of us," he admitted. "All our names. We're all on it."

**Ah, a cliffhanger. I really am dangerously attracted to those. I hope you enjoyed, and please let me know what you thought. :)**

**P.S.S. The next chapter will bring in another target.**


	4. Encounters

**Thank you so much for all those who have supported this story! I love each response!**

_**Chapter 4. Encounters.**_

It worried Gibbs when he read Ziva's name on his cellphone's caller I.D. He answered it quickly, in which Ziva asked him to come to her apartment without an explanation. He didn't ask. He was known for being a man of few words, and his reputation remained under these circumstances.

After picking McGee up, Gibbs joined Ducky and Palmer at Ziva's apartment. It was a small relief that the agent killed hadn't been one of his small team, but he pitied the agent for his sudden demise all the same.

"Gibbs," Ziva breathed for a second time in that long day, spotting him at yet another crime scene. "McGee." She stood next to the body, Tony hovering just behind her.

"Agent Lang's throat's been slashed, Boss," Tony filled him in.

"Did anyone see anything?" Gibbs questioned.

Ziva shook her head.

"I was in the kitchen, and Ziva was taking a shower," Tony answered.

Ziva had changed back into a pair of work clothes, figuring it was going to be an even longer night. Her hair was pinned up into a bun, still wet from her shower.

"Jethro, you'll want to see this," Ducky called for his friend's attention, pointing at the note attached to the door with the bloodied knife.

"What is it?" McGee asked, trying to avoid Agent Lang's corpse as he tried to peer over Gibbs's shoulder at the note.

"List of Team Gibbs members," Tony informed him. "It seems we're all targets."

Gibbs studied the list, reading the four names over again:

**Ziva David**

**Abigail Sciuto**

**Timothy McGee**

**Anthony DiNozzo**

"They're saving the best for last," Tony concluded with his smirk.

Everyone chose to ignore his comment.

"If it wasn't a list of targets we were looking at, I might be offended that Mr. Palmer and I were left off," Ducky spoke as he examined the cut to Agent Lang's throat.

"Gibbs, I do believe that the contract killer is still hunting me, but I think that he may have given us a list of the targets to anticipate the next hit," Ziva shared her thoughts.

"Boss, who's next?" McGee asked, still unable to get a clear view of the names.

"Abby," Gibbs answered, pulling out his cellphone as a new wave of worry washed through his veins.

* * *

><p>Abby was oblivious to the commotion that had occurred during the day. All she knew was that Gibbs had called her this morning, asking her to cancel the rest of the trip so she could I.D. some blood.<p>

She wasn't ignorant, though. She knew if Gibbs was asking her to come in during one of her seldom taken vacations, it was an urgent matter. She just didn't know what.

So with her cellphone still off from her flight back to D.C., she went into her lab, even though it was now eleven o'clock at night.

She grabbed a Caf-Pow! and marched off to work, curious as to what was so significant about this person's blood.

After putting the blood through the Mass Spec, she typed away at her computer, eager to check her e-mail to see if McGee had sent her any updates with whatever case this was. But when she checked, no one had sent her a case file for this.

_'Something's definitely up,' _Abby thought to herself, locating the rather quick blood results. _'A positive blood, male. Belonging to a Mister . . .'_

Abby froze. She had seen this man before. She sat next to this Azzan Gorion on the plane here. She had talked with him about her life and friends for two hours.

_'Who was I talking to?'_ she wondered to herself, slightly hoping it was a coincidental look-a-like on the plane. After all, that sat next to her had given her a different name.

With chills on her skin, Abby reached for the phone in front of her computer, preparing to call Gibbs and demand an explanation. That was her plan until she felt the barrel of a gun being pressed against her temple, followed by the notorious click of cocking a gun.

"I am sorry that it had to be this way, Abigail Sciuto," a gruff, calm voice breathed down her neck.

Gibbs instincts never failed; just then, Abby's phone began ringing. She suspected he somehow already knew she got a match for the blood sample.

Her hand was already frozen inches away from the phone. All she had to do was flip it up and yell as she ran. Gibbs would know to come.

Azzan could see the contemplation in her eyes. He pressed the barrel deeper into her skin as a warning, making her flinch away. "I would not do that if I was you."

"What do you want?" Abby's demand wasn't quite as courageous as she wanted it to sound.

"You would be dead, too, if the other man had not screwed up," Azzan muttered. "So until my side of the bargain is filled, take this as a warning of what is to come."

Abby tried to turn and face the man, but he forced her head to continue staring in the direction of her computers by shoving the gun against her head.

"Look, I don't know where you went to school, but where I went they didn't teach us to decipher some guy's creepily ambiguous message. I mean, are you going to kill me?

"Not that I want you to," she hurried to correct herself. "I'm just trying to figure out what you're saying."

Azzan allowed a small smirk to come to his lips. He genuinely liked Abby. But in his profession, one couldn't let themself listen to emotions. "Not today, Ms. Sciuto."

In the split second that followed, Abby hesitated to reach for the phone just under her hand. That was all the time that Azzan needed to slam the butt of the gun into her temple, causing her to fall into unconsciousness instantly.

* * *

><p>DiNozzo and McGee were just arriving at Abby's apartment as Gibbs and Ziva arrived at NCIS.<p>

"I'll go to her lab, you stay in the parking lot," Gibbs commanded, turning in a hurry towards Abby's lab.

Just as he was about to turn away, Gibbs thought better of his plan. Although Ziva would never complain, he decided he probably shouldn't be leaving the targeted agent out in the open by herself. He quickly dialed Ziva's cellphone and ordered, "Stay on the line with me. Tell me if anything happens."

Ziva gave him a nod as he ducked out of view.

She waited silently with her gun drawn, scanning the area. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement. Ziva turned, prepared to shoot whoever it may be.

"Abby," Gibbs's voice called from the cellphone in her hand.

The suspect froze in his tracks, having heard the voice in this quiet night.

With a quick apologetic glance at her cellphone, Ziva silently closed her phone, ending her phone call with Gibbs.

As silent as a ghost, Ziva moved across the parking lot until she was within ten feet of the seemingly unsuspecting man.

The man suddenly whirled around, his gun trained on the center of Ziva's forehead. Ziva continued to keep her own weapon trained on the suspect.

Recognition and a smoldering anger flickered to Ziva's features as she took in the sight of Azzan. "Azzan Gorion," she breathed, keeping her emotions in check.

"Hello, Ziva," he replied with a small smirk.

She raised her chin and tightened her grip on the gun in her hands. "Drop the gun, Azzan. I am a federal agent."

Azzan chuckled to himself. "Not tonight, Ziva." Suddenly he managed to kick the gun from her grasp.

Ziva reacted instantly. She knocked his weapon away, followed by a punch aimed at this man's nose.

Azzan neatly dodged it. Every blow that he delivered, Ziva countered. Every punch and kick that she aimed at him, Azzan escaped. They were evenly matched, having the same training from Mossad.

Ziva's thoughts clouded her mind for only a moment, the extensively long day catching up with her. That small moment was all Azzan needed. He was able to deliver a blow to her head, knocking her flat on her back. He reached his gun and pointed it at her in the mere seconds it to her to fall.

Ziva stared up at him, slightly frightened and breathing hard.

Azzan continued pointing it at her head, his finger experimentally, gently tapping the trigger. His eyes roamed her face as he contemplated his plan of action. After a second of thought, he muttered, "You are not my mess to clean up."

He released the trigger of his gun and stashed it in the holster lying just inside of his dark jacket.

Ziva turned onto her hands and knees and threw herself towards her gun. But by the time she turned back around with her gun drawn, Azzan was already gone.

As she searched the parking lot, Gibbs cam running up the stairs. "Ziva!"

She turned toward him, her lip bleeding, as she lowered her weapon. "Here, Gibbs."

"What happened?" he demanded, reaching her.

"Azzan Gorion," she muttered, slightly bitter, "was here. We fought, and he escaped when I reached for my weapon."

Gibbs scanned the area, looking for any escaping suspects, but there wasn't an unturned leaf to be seen. After all, Azzan had been trained Mossad, making it all the more harder to catch him.

**I'm starting the next chapter very soon. I think I know how I want it to play out, so I'll get to work. Although, reviews will force me to write faster… :)**


	5. Conclusions

**Your guys' reviews totally made my day! Thank you so much! **

**Here's chapter 5 as a gift for such awesome responses.**

_**Chapter 5. Conclusions.**_

"Can't this wait 'til morning?" Abby questioned, still groggy from her spell of unconsciousness.

The team had gathered in the evidence garage, the only truly secure place Gibbs could think of besides SECNAB. Abby had woken up with minor injuries, Ducky having given her a clean bill of health after an ordered check-up by Gibbs. Tony and McGee returned back from Abby's apartment, and Palmer had shown up, cheerful and ever-willing to help.

"I second that notion," Tony declared, rising out of his appointed folding chair.

"Sit down," Gibbs commanded bitterly, pointing at DiNozzo's seat.

"Yes, Boss," Tony agreed quickly as he sat back in his seat, all feelings of rebellion exterminated.

Gibbs slammed a picture of Azzan on a rolled in bulletin board. "McGee, recap."

Tim quickly opened his case file and sprang to his feet. "Azzan Gorion's blood was found at the crime scene from this morning. He's believed to have tried to assassinate Ziva."

Ziva stepped up, taking over. "Agent Lang was murdered at my apartment tonight. The killer left a note of Abby's, Tony's, McGee's, and my name. It seems to be an ordered list of targets, whether to kill or seriously harm is unknown."

"Meaning Timothy is next," Ducky added.

"Then the killer seemed to be going after Abby," Tony chimed in, rising to his own feet. "As McGeek and I went off to her apartment, the killer followed her to the lab.

"Popcorn Abby!" he declared as he pointed at the forensic scientist, using the method of exchanging speaking roles that was common with children.

Abby hopped to her feet. "Azzan sat next to me on the plane and just talked to me." She turned to Gibbs and murmured, "He was really nice, Gibbs.

"And then he must have followed me back to the lab, where he attacked."

"Which means his intention was not to kill Abby," Ziva assumed. "If it had been, he could have killed her silently at any point of her trip to her lab, yet he did not."

"Cold feet?" Tony wondered aloud, his face scrunched into a confused expression.

Ziva snorted. "He was Mossad, Tony. We trained together. Azzan does not get cold feet."

"When he pointed the gun at me," Abby added, "he said that it was just a warning until something happened before he killed me."

"Could be working off the list," McGee suggested. "He might have quit Mossad, then became a sociopathic serial killer. He might be waiting until he kills Ziva."

"It doesn't fit," Tony disagreed. "Abby is his alibi. There's no way he killed Lang and left the note while on the plane with Abby."

"So there are two killers," Ziva concluded.

"Maybe more," Gibbs suggested, taking a swig of his bitter coffee.

"Great," she muttered, throwing her hands in the air. "We are back with nothing!"

"Is Gorion still with Mossad?" Gibbs inquired the Israeli.

Ziva sighed, falling back into her folding chair. "He quit a year before I left for my liaison position with NCIS. I do not know if he rejoined during my absence. I did not even know he was in America."

"DiNozzo," Gibbs barked. "Send out a BOLO for Gorion. See if the F.B.I. can get a search party going."

"Yes, Boss," he complied, grabbing his coat and delivering a kiss to Ziva's cheek before heading out.

"McGee," Gibbs ordered.

"Go through Gorion's computer," McGee finished for him.

His boss gave a nod. "See if you can find out who the second killer is."

As Tim left, Gibbs turned to the remaining four. "Duck, Palmer, Lang's autopsy can wait 'til tomorrow morning."

Ducky grumbled under his breath about wasted time as Jimmy happily followed his mentor out.

"What can we do, Gibbs?" Abby asked, Ziva at her side. The two had dazed eyes from the events of their day, but both resisted the temptation of sleep.

"Go home," Gibbs commanded. "Get some sleep. I'll assign you both some agents for protection."

"I am still capable of helping catch Azzan," Ziva protested. "I know him, his patterns—"

"Go home," he repeated, grabbing his coat and walking towards the elevator. "You'll both work better after you've rested. I'll be talking with Director David about Gorion."

Ziva was unable to refute anything as the elevators closed with Gibbs inside.

"This sucks," Abby complained. "The second I return to my lab, I get ambushed. The second I can go back, Gibbs orders me to go home. And why aren't Tony and McGee getting protection detail, anyways? They could be killed next!"

"I do not know," Ziva muttered thoughtfully. "But there is something smelly about this case."

"Fishy," Abby corrected absentmindedly, daydreaming about the Caf-Pow! and computer software she would be able to return to in the morning.

"Fish?" Ziva asked, wondering where the seemingly random noun had come from.

As Abby dove into the world of literary devices, a pair of eyes roamed Timothy McGee's apartment, hunting for their next victim.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until three a.m. that Tony finally joined Ziva in bed. He tried to quietly remove his work clothes and slide gratefully into bed, but the second he pulled the sheet up, Ziva instantly sat upright with her gun drawn on DiNozzo's heart.<p>

She was panting and Tony had his arms partially raised in the darkness.

"Hey," he murmured soothingly, gently sliding into bed next to her. He slowly lowered the aimed gun back down as Ziva caught her breath. "It's O.K. It's just me."

Tony kissed her cheek as she distractedly placed her weapon back underneath her pillow.

"Honestly, you think anyone could get past those guards in the hallway and living room?" he questioned with a snort. "They all know me, and I had to flash my badge a dozen times just to get back here. Personally, I'm surprised they didn't ask for a blood test."

Ziva laid her head back down on the pillow, not amused by his rant.

"Ziva," Tony murmured after a moment of silence. "You're O.K. I, a manly protector, will fight off anyone that thinks of coming after you."

She glanced at his smirk. "You were not there this morning. I can take care of myself."

Tony sighed. The distancing shell was back, protecting Ziva and her emotions. "But I'm here now. Nothing will happen to you."

At that comment, Ziva whirled around to face him threateningly. "Really?" she hissed. "What if one of those NCIS agents has gone dirty like Agent Lee did? What if my attacker is already inside of the building? He detonates a bomb from the street, crumbling the building with us trapped inside? Or there is a sniper waiting just across the street, watching us right now?"

Tony watched the slightly crazed woman until she stopped staring at him. She turned back on her side, back towards the wall. "I appreciate the lies, but that is what they are. You cannot protect me."

There was a silence that settled between them. If Ziva David had been any other woman, any other woman in the world, Tony would have gotten out of that bed and found another place to sleep. But this was Ziva; he couldn't leave her if he tried. And they had tried before, but fate always worked its magic, sucking them back together again.

"I'd rise to the challenge," Tony declared.

His response was unexpected to Ziva. She would have thought that he would leave their conversation alone after that. "What?" She turned onto her back, staring up at him.

"I'd fight the sniper, or I may just snipe him right back," he explained.

"Or get Boss to do it. . . He's a better sniper than I am," Tony murmured, trailing off for a moment. He looked back at Ziva, returning his mind to the subject. "And if someone blew us up, I'd swim us out of the wreckage of the crumbled building. I'd fight and kill anyone that tries to get in here and take us out. I'm not lying to you, Ziva."

She fought the urge to gape at him. "You are delusional."

Tony slightly smirked at her observation. "I've been told that before, yet I think I've faired pretty well."

Ziva stared at him, contemplating. He was so sure, so matter-of-fact, so . . . so. . . so _arrogant_. And she believed him.

"I love you, Ziva," he stated with a shrug as if he was talking about the weather. "I can't help it. So, for my sake, I'll keep you safe."

He earned a small smile from the Israeli's lips. "That was one of the. . ." she trailed off, thinking of the appropriate word. "_Corniest_ things I have ever heard."

Tony stared at her, wishing that wasn't the end of her statement. "I really hope there's a 'but' coming."

Ziva smiled and placed a hand on his back. "_But_. . . I love you, too. And I hope, for _both_ our sakes, that you are right."

He smiled, happy that his charm won her over. He pressed his mouth against hers, moving into a deep kiss. "I'm always right," he claimed against her lips.

She smiled and slapped the back of his head before resuming what they had started the previous morning, despite the fact that both were past exhaustion.

**Sorry, there weren't any big plot points in this chapter, but I wanted to write in some Tiva fluff. ;) The next chapter contains more action, pinky promise.**


	6. The Third Target

**How many 'thank you's will equate to the happiness your responses brought me? **

**I don't know either. Therefore, I'll cover a few now:**

**Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!**

_**Chapter 6. The Third Target.**_

"Thanks, guys," McGee said with a grin to the two NCIS agents assigned to be his protection. "I really appreciate it."

The two agents gave a nod, not really paying attention. Like Lang, they just wanted to go home.

With a final smile, McGee closed the door on the men stationed outside of his apartment. Tim moved into his apartment, grateful to finally be back home. He had been allowed to leave work for the night around two in the morning, just before DiNozzo.

So Timothy changed into his pajamas, brushed his teeth, and performed all of his other nightly routines. With a content sigh, he fell into bed listening to the soothing sounds of jazz that radiated from his mp3 player.

Eyes watched him from a distance. From an apartment across the street, Russell's binoculars were trained on Special Agent Timothy McGee.

_'Not tonight,'_ Russell promised himself. _'Not all at once.'_

* * *

><p>The team had been permitted to arrive at NCIS late the next morning because of the previous late night of work. Ziva and Tony arrived with their three agents who were trailing behind, providing continuous, Gibbs-ordered protection.<p>

"I hate this," Ziva complained with a slightly crazed look. "The feeling of roaming eyes is on me constantly! I can feel their presence behind me at all times. It makes my skin slither."

"Crawl," Tony corrected with a smirk. He enjoyed the extra attention this case was getting him. "Your ninja senses are just adjusting to the extra people. Besides, you'd have roaming eyes on you even if the agents weren't here." Just to emphasize his point, Tony looked Ziva over with a hungry gaze.

She rolled her eyes and smacked his arm before pulling into the seat at her desk. "I think I prefer the days when I was in danger in Israeli, without a protection detail. I defended myself well enough to stay alive then, and I see no difference now."

"The difference now is you're an American government employee," Gibbs announced, walking into the bullpen with his coffee in hand, "and it's my job to keep you alive."

Ziva relented to her boss's orders with a final, threateningly glance at the three agents hovering on the outskirts of the bullpen.

Gibbs sat in his chair as Tony stationed himself at his own.

"Where's McGee?" Gibbs demanded, looking towards the empty desk.

Tony glanced at it before turning back towards his superior. "Probably just running late, Boss. There could've been traffic."

Gibbs stood back up, snatching his coffee to bring with him. "Call him. We don't have time for 'probably's."

"On it, Boss," he replied quickly as Gibbs turned to go down to Abby's lab.

As Tony pounded the buttons on his phone, McGee walked into the bullpen, all too cheery for a life-threatened day spent in the office.

"Probie!" Tony snapped, throwing his phone back into its cradle. "Where have you been?"

McGee sat down in his seat, setting down his coffee on the desk. He looked at his watch before answering, "I'm exactly two minutes late, Tony. If that was a misdemeanor, you'd be in a federal prison by now."

Tony gave him a patronizing smile as McGee turned toward his computer. "What? Did Little Timmy get lost on his way to school?"

Tony approached Tim's desk, earning an eye roll from McGee.

"Look, I woke up late, O.K.?" McGee admitted. "Then it took longer than usual to get my coffee this morning."

"And why might that be, McTardy?" DiNozzo demanded.

This time Ziva rolled her eyes as she jumped into the conversation. "Perhaps there was a line, Tony. It is not unusual for a coworker to be two minutes late."

Tony turned his suspicious sights on her. "Probette, can you account for McGee's tardy whereabouts?"

"No," she admitted, rising to her feet, "but I can account for your own. Would you like me to?" She looked Tony over with a smirk, images of last night replaying in both of their minds.

Tony cleared his throat, deciding to end his tirade. "That will be all."

He turned away and sat back at his desk as Ziva sat back down with her smirk.

After a few minutes of typing, DiNozzo looked around the bullpen questioningly. Once satisfied that he didn't see Gibbs anywhere near, he leaned forward and asked, "Does anyone else find it suspicious that Gibbs isn't on the list of targets? It's a little strange, don't you think? I mean, we all work for him, yet he's left off the list."

"How do you know that they're targeting us because we work for Gibbs?" McGee asked.

Tony snorted. "Come on. It's not like we have anything else in common. You're a computer nerd, and I'm . . ." He threw on his conceited grin before finishing. "_Very_ Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo."

Ziva gave her boyfriend a disbelieving look and suggested the obvious. "Or perhaps it is because we all work for NCIS."

Tony looked at her questioningly, as if wondering where she pulled that from. "Could be. But it's a little too obvious."

Ziva scoffed at him. "So you think we are not being targeted for that reason because it is not _exciting_ enough for you, Tony?"

Tony squinted, wondering how she bent his words that way. "No, Ziva. But if that were true—which I highly doubt—why would they target only us? Abby included."

Ziva took a deep breath as she straightened herself in her chair, understanding his point.

"Tony, are you really accusing Gibbs of targeting us?" McGee asked in unconcerned disbelief.

"No," Tony answered slowly, not trusting the security of the open bullpen. "But it wouldn't be the first time. Didn't you ever see _The Alzheimer Case_? I mean, the boss hired a hit man to kill his employee! Granted, the employee was a hit man, too—" Tony slowed his spiel as he realized his coworkers had gone eerily quiet as they returned to work.

Tony spun around quickly, only to be face to face with Gibbs.

"You think I'm going to kill you, DiNozzo?" his boss asked in a threateningly calm manner.

Tony's face scrunched up as he racked his brains for a defense. "No, Boss. Just talking about movies."

A flicker of a smile came to Gibbs's lips as he turned away, leaving Tony to sweat it.

"McGee, any trace of Gorion yet?" Gibbs demanded as he rejoined his desk.

McGee hastily tapped away. "Three hits from the BOLO, Boss. I'll check 'em out."

"No sign of Azzan with the F.B.I. yet," Ziva announced, stealing Tony's only thunder and chance of recovery.

Ziva gave a small, playful smirk to the floundering Tony.

Gibbs just looked at the movie lover, waiting for some new information.

"I, uh, don't really have anything yet, Boss," he admitted. He smiled, trying to smooth it over.

Gibbs merely continued to stare as DiNozzo concentrated, trying to read the silver haired man's mind.

"But . . . I can . . ." Tony paused, trying to think of something he could do.

Abby came running into the bullpen, happily calling Gibbs name. Tony sunk back into his chair, grateful to be out from under the microscope.

"Gibbs!" Abby called again. "I found Gorion's partner in crime." She wiggled her fingers at the 'partner in crime' bit.

"I kind of always wanted to be a partner in crime," she admitted, becoming sidetracked. "But I don't think I could blend in with all of the crime life. And, you'd have to know someone who will commit a crime with you. But there isn't a crime that I'd actually want to commit with a partner to—"

"Abbs," Gibbs interrupted, trying to get her to the point already.

"Russell Hendrickson," she revealed, her dark red lips turning into a gloating smile. "He and Gorion have been going into a private chat room on a gaming website for the past three weeks, talking about orchestrating these attacks."

Gibbs clenched his teeth together but showed no other reaction to the news.

"What, no Caf-Pow?" Abby asked, holding her empty hands in front of her questioningly.

"Do you know this Russell Hendrickson?" Ziva asked, noticing the minute hardening of Gibbs's expression.

"Ten years ago, his son and wife were killed by a hit-and-run. I was the assigned agent for the case, but we never found the killer," Gibbs admitted.

"Do you think this was revenge?" Abby asked, slightly wishing she had Bert, the farting hippo, to hold in these moments of stress. "Do you think he'll try to kill us again?"

"He's isn't going to kill anyone," Gibbs promised her. He stood up and kissed Abby on her cheek before marching away to Leon Vance's office.

Tony smirked. "I was right; we're targets because of Gibbs." He was a tad too cheerful for a matter so grim.

DiNozzo looked at everyone for a response. Ziva continued typing at her computer for a link to Azzan, Abby leaned against Gibbs's desk with a concerned look, and McGee pretended not to hear the other agent's rants.

With an eye roll, Tony returned to his work. "You spilled ketchup on your shirt, Probie," he muttered after glancing at McGee from the corner of his eye.

McGee looked up with a confused look. He hadn't had ketchup today.

Ziva was already out of her seat. She had looked up at McGee and seen the red dot located right over his heart. "McGee!" she shouted just before tackling him and his chair to the ground.

They landed in a heap when the shot fired. It hit the wall to the side of McGee's desk, the same place his heart had been.

Everyone else in the building dropped to the ground with panicked outburts, Abby and Tony included, seconds after the bullet shattered the window's glass and penetrated the wall.

Tony was on the phone, frantically dialing for security. "Sniper on the western front," he explained as the building continued their cacophony of panicked shouts.

"Everybody, stay down and calm down!" Vance shouted from the top of the stairs, attempting to bring order back to NCIS. "We're in a government building, for God's sake!"

Gibbs stood next to him, his eyes scanning over each member of his team for any injuries. His shoulders relaxed a bit when he saw that they were all unharmed.

Abby began crawling out from her position in front of Gibbs's desk, trying to reach the stairs.

"I said stay down, Ms. Sciuto," Vance ordered authoritatively.

She paused her crawl and looked up at him. "Logically, I'd say that I have a pretty good chance at survival. The attacker seems to be moving down a list. Tony and McGee should be the only ones worried here."

"Stay down, Abbs," Gibbs echoed, his tone more of a request than an order.

Abby gave him a raised eyebrow but relented.

From his nearly fetal position underneath his desk, Tony whispered with a crazed look, "Does this mean I'm next?"

Ziva and McGee looked back at each other, realizing that he had a good chance at being right.

***Cue black and white scene with the photograph sound effect***

**Reviews are politely and enthusiastically requested. ;)**


	7. On All Fronts

**So sorry! Again! It's been so long. I've been eaten alive since the beginning of school, and I have been just procrastinating updating.**

**Anywho, hope you enjoy!**

_**Chapter 7. On All Fronts.**_

This time Ziva and Tony were sitting on Gibbs's couch. Gibbs was through taking chances. He wasn't letting his targeted team out of his sight, even for the night.

After the shooting, the day was filled with incident reports, clarifications, and uneventful matters.

McGee was still grouchy and jumpy that he had brushed past Death so narrowly. He had retired to bed as soon as the team arrived at Gibbs's house, taking one of the empty guest bedrooms.

From the kitchen, Abby's conversation on the phone with her bowling nuns echoed into the living room, Abby's voice explaining that she was unable to bowl during the next game.

Gibbs, being the Gibbs he was, stood in his basement, finally beginning a new boat to take his mind off of things; the bourbon just wasn't distracting enough during this case.

Ziva sat, sharpening her knife, as she imaged Azan's face falling into lifelessness after she killed him, time and time again. Tony watched warily as she sharpened the blades against one another, hoping her edginess wouldn't cause her to sink the sharp metal into his own flesh.

"Calm down, Tony," Ziva muttered, sensing his agitation. She never looked up from her knives.

Tony began tapping his foot anxiously. "I can't just calm down. I'm next!

"I bet he's got something really big planned for me, too," he said, his mind returning to gruesome images of his own gnarled flesh. "I can feel it. I'm last, and he's planning to kill his ex-girlfriend's new boyfriend slowly and painfully."

Ziva rolled her eyes. "I never dated Azan, Tony."

He snorted. "Yeah. Right. That's why he's saving me for last!"

She finally turned and looked at his when she began her rant. "I do not know _why_ he chose to attempt to kill you last, Tony. But just because he did, that does not mean there was any motivation behind it! Someone had to go last, or it wouldn't be a list!"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You're just saying that because you're not next."

She stared at him with a hard look before throwing her knife into the floor. It landed at the tip of DiNozzo's shoe, piercing it into the floorboard beneath.

He let out a small squeal, his nerves on edge, when she did so. When he realized no flesh had been fowled, he grimaced at her, only to find that she was walking out of the room.

"These are Italian!" he called after her, trying to pry the blade from the wood and leather.

Gibbs walked in then, having heard Tony's squeal. He raised an eyebrow at Tony.

Tony was still prying the knife out. "Got a knife to the shoe, Boss," he explained the obvious.

Not bothering to comment, Gibbs walked out too, on his way to talk to Abby.

There had only been three extra rooms, causing DiNozzo to draw the short stick and sleep on the couch. (Ziva and Tony didn't dare to sleep in the same quarters in Gibbs's house; Tony was incapable of resisting her when she was so close to him in the quiet dark.)

So after getting away from DiNozzo's case of paranoia, Ziva went to her guest room just around the corner of the living room.

She stood at her window, the moonlight filtering down on her through the glass. She stood and watched the three guards calmly circle around the edges of Gibbs's house, subliminally memorizing their routine.

She stood, just watching and thinking of the day, for nearly ten minutes. That was when an image caught her eye. It was a mere flash of black, fast as lightning. For a moment, Ziva believed that she had imagined the sight. But one of Gibbs's mottos reminded her that there was no such thing as a coincidence, especially in targeted times like these.

She drew her gun from the holster at her hip, preparing for anything. She turned from the window, on her way to tell Gibbs of what she saw. Or, at least, what she thought she saw.

But as she reached the door of her bottom floor guest bedroom, sounds echoed through the house. Sounds of glass shattering and bullets spraying reverberated to her ears, along with everyone else's.

She sprang out of her door, only to be assaulted the moment she stepped out. She fought her attackers, but it was three against one. They pinned her arms and knocked her weapon away easily.

At that time, Gibbs had been consoling Abby down in his basement, and McGee was only beginning to wake up from a confusing nightmare on the second floor.

And during the spray of firing bullets, all three guards had been shot in the head.

The only one who knew of Ziva's assault was Tony, who had briefly taken refuge behind a cabinet when the bullets began.

He ran to her aid, his gun drawn. But as he waited to get a shot that wouldn't hit Ziva, she began taking more blows than giving them. Rather than stand back and watch, Tony ran into the fight and began fighting them with her. But Ziva was already halfway unconscious, having been smacked in her temple with the butt of a gun. After another quick blow to her cranium, it was lights out. She fell into one of the attacker's waiting arms.

Tony's gun was quickly knocked out of his hands, before he even delivered a blow. Having no other options, Tony fought, but these men had been expertly trained in hand-to-hand combat. DiNozzo got in his fair share of blows, but it wasn't enough. And before he knew it had happened, someone had injected his neck with a syringe of an unknown drug. He fell to his knees a second after.

There were now four attackers, the fourth having recently reunited with his comrades. One, clad in a black ski mask, shirt, and pants like the others, hefted Ziva up onto his shoulder.

"What about the man?" one hissed.

"Bring him," another responded bitterly. "We can use him as leverage."

Without another word, Tony was lifted up, too.

The six were quickly stashed into their black, license plate-less van seconds later. They were already halfway down the road when bullets began ricocheting off the metal van, not ceasing until the van turned a corner out of sight.

* * *

><p>Gibbs was giving Abbs a hug after their conversation. That was when the glass shattered and the bullets fired. The two instantly sprang apart, Gibbs running up the stairs of his basement.<p>

Abby was right on his tail, but Gibbs quickly yelled over his shoulder, "Stay here!"

He turned back to the door and quickly swung it open. Instantly, he was assaulted by a man in a ski mask. He flew backwards, but he managed to regain his balance quickly. Gibbs reached for his weapon, but the attacker kicked it away before Gibbs could point and shoot.

Forced with no other options, Gibbs ran at the man before he could gain the upper hand. They tackled and rolled at the top of the stairs, both equally having control of the situation.

Abby ran to the bottom of the stairs, hoping to easily spot where Gibbs kept his spare gun. For good reason, it wasn't in plain sight. She then had to search the drawers, but she managed to find a rifle in the fourth drawer.

She ran back up the stairs, the two men now brawling in the dining room. She aimed the rifle, absorbed in trying to aim and strike the right target.

That was when a needle was placed in the back of her neck, forcing her into an unconscious state. She managed to swing around a second after injection, but the chemicals consumed her awareness far too quickly. Her attacker quickly lifted her over his shoulder, and he made his way back out the backdoor.

Gibbs could only watch as Abby was injected, followed by the rifle falling from her grip. He could only stare as she was carried off like an object, like she didn't matter.

Gibbs got a new adrenaline rush from the sickening sight and began fighting with a whole new energy source. He struck the man in the face and managed to tear off the ski mask, revealing a man of Israeli descent.

The attacker kicked Gibbs off of him and was able to reach his own gun from his ankle. He then whirled around and pointed it at Gibbs.

Gibbs knew that killing this man would be a waste of a valuable resource, but, because of this, the attacker was able to fire a bullet into Gibbs's shoulder before the butt of the rifle knocked him into unconsciousness.

Gibbs watched the man fall to the ground for a brief moment as he put pressure on the wound in his shoulder. He then quickly ran out the backdoor, following the path Abby had last been on.

That was when the black van was driving away. Gibbs fired at the tires, but there was no way of stopping the van.

He turned to his own car parked in the driveway, only to find that all the tires had been slashed into flats.

Gibbs began a string of curses, kicking the car door just as McGee groggily came running out of the house in his pajamas.

"Boss?" McGee asked, so terribly confused as to what had just happened; his sleeping pills were still greatly affecting him.

Gibbs marched past McGee without an explanation. He strode into house, calling out for Tony and Ziva. Silence met him eerily.

He burst the door open to his guest room with a "Ziver," but not a whisper was replied.

He went through every place in his whole damn house, but no a soul beside himself and McGee remained.

"They took 'em, McGee," Gibbs spat, finally stating the obvious. "They took our team."

***Black and white and such-ness***

**Thank you so much, you beautiful souls for all of your lovely responses! I sincerely apologize to NeverMessWithTeddyBears. You left probably the coolest review I've ever received, and I totally let you die of starvation. Sorry!**

**Reviews make my day! :)**


	8. The Beginning

**Sorry for the delay! But, voilà!**

_**Chapter 8. The Beginning.**_

"Tony."

It was so hard to come to your senses when your muscles had been forced to shut down. Tony blinked groggily, seeing double. His eyes just couldn't focus. Instead of trying harder, they admitted a momentary defeat and reclosed.

"Tony," Ziva repeated, attempting to get him to come to his senses.

His eyes reopened, trying once again to focus. But try as he might, his eyes couldn't register the dark room he laid in. His eyes began to drift close again.

With a frustrated and displeased huff, Ziva smacked Tony upside the head. This jolted Tony back to life, having struck an acquired instinct that a smack meant Gibbs, which means no sleeping on the job. Classical conditioning brought the agent back to his senses.

As he quickly awakened, he jolted upright. He instantly regretted it, as his mind began to register the soreness covering his body. With a scrunched face and audible groan, Tony began rubbing one of his bruised arms. "What the hell happened?"

Ziva sighed, looking over the room for the eightieth time. "It appears we have been kidnapped."

The room they sat in was a strangely large room, although barely lit. It had a corner of metal chairs bolted to the ground, along with bolted metal tables. Along the wall were seven rows of bookshelves, all empty. A staircase led from the ground up to a door, no way down.

Tony looked around at a few books littering the ground here and there. "It looks like a basement to a library."

Ziva gave a nod, her hand unconsciously reaching for her empty knife sheath. "No one else is down here except for us."

Tony began pushing himself onto his feet, and Ziva hurried to help him up.

"How long have I been out?" he asked, his mind swirling from his movements.

Ziva shrugged, sighing as her mind pushed past muddled thoughts. Everything was so tiring. "I have been attempting to wake you up for a good half of an hour. Unsuccessfully until now."

"Those bastards injected me with something," he muttered, rubbing the bruised back of his neck.

The two began shuffling around the room, Tony leading as they supported one another.

"Do you think anyone else was kidnapped?" Ziva wondered aloud.

Tony glanced at her. She was worried, but even now she did not let it show.

He wanted to believe that Gibbs was just upstairs and here with them, too. He wanted to believe that some of his work family was with him.

But a stronger part of him wished that they had escaped to freedom. It was bad enough that Ziva had to be captured; he could only hope that no one else had, too.

"No," he answered, hoping speaking the words would make them true. "It's just us. Gibbs and Abby and Probie are all locating us now."

A small smile came to Ziva's mouth. "That is a nice . . . hope, Tony." She saw through it easily, though.

"No, no," he countered with a shake of his head. "It's true. You see, my x-ray vision came in last week, and I can see that there's only one bad guy upstairs. And he's getting us coffee because he's secretly on our side."

A small laugh escaped her. "And so now you have x-ray vision?"

He smiled, enjoying the sound of her laugh despite the situation they were in. "Yes I do, Probationary Agent David." His eyes dramatically wandered to her clothes, emphasizing various areas with his stare. "And may I say that it is becoming quite handy."

She didn't fight his antics. After all, he was making her laugh just after being kidnapped. Instead, she leaned her head against his strong chest, breathing in and memorizing his scent.

"What is our plan, Tony?" she murmured, secretly wishing that they were just sitting on a couch in her apartment.

His hand stroked through her dark brown hair. "We wait for Gibbs, I guess."

They were both standing and contemplating their options when the sounds of footfall and shouts came to their ears.

"I think I can have them, Tony," Ziva quickly whispered, trying to get her ideas in the air before the men opened the door.

"What?" Tony questioned, both confused by the idea and her wording.

"Take," she corrected herself, shaking her head. "I think I can take them."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Let's just play it safe and scout how many there are."

She pulled away from him, unafraid of what was about to come. "This may be our only chance, Tony. They could be coming down to tie us up."

He stepped towards her, hoping he could convince her to give up the idea. "And they could be bringing us Playboys and coffee. Let's just see who they are and what they want before we attack."

But Ziva already had her attack plan finalized. She could only hope that Tony might join in as she fought her way out of this hellhole.

She quickly ran her way up the concrete stairs, preparing to crush whoever dared to open the door.

"Zi-VAH!" Tony hissed, wishing she would just listen to his plan.

She was past listening. She was preparing to attack.

That was when the door swung open.

Ziva lunged at the man the second the opportunity was presented. He was unable to raise his gun in defense, and Ziva shoved him into unconsciousness with a smack of his gun to his head.

Tony was fighting with her now, and together they managed to fight off the next attacker.

But the third and fourth stood with guns trained on them, preparing to shoot if necessary.

Ziva quickly picked up the disoriented second man and pointed a gun at his head. "Drop your weapons or he dies!" she threatened.

Tony had a gun trained on the third and fourth.

That was when a fifth man came into view. Azzan Gorion. And being dragged with him was none other than Abby Sciuto.

"Abby," Tony breathed, disappointed to learn that another friend had been captured.

She didn't look any worse for wear. Perhaps still a bit drowsy from the drugs, but, for the most part, unharmed.

Azzan clicked his tongue disapprovingly at Ziva. "Ziva David. I would caution you to lower your own weapon."

Ziva gritted her teeth, tightening her grip on her gun. "I would advise you to do the same, Azzan."

He smirked. "Can you not see that you are outnumbered?"

Ziva raised an eyebrow. "I have never been that good at counting."

Azzan released a light chuckle. "Shoot Abigail," he commanded carelessly, a smirk still remaining on his face.

The guards turned their weapons on the defenseless Abby, sending ice into Ziva's and Abby's stomach.

"Wait," Tony ordered, desperation underlying his tone.

The guards hesitated, and Azzan granted it with a nod.

Slowly, Tony lowered his gun to the ground. He methodically knelt down and placed his hands behind his head.

Azzan turned his stare back to Ziva. "Now you."

Ziva ground her teeth together in frustration. She hated this situation. Every damn bit of it. But she had no choice. It was either let Abby die and escape themselves or follow Azzan's orders.

"Just listen to the bastard, Ziva," Tony grumbled bitterly. He hated this just as much as she did.

Her anger fueled her like lava. Hot, smoldering, and slowly building. If she didn't keep it in check, it would erupt like a volcano.

With a huff, she threw her hostage and the live weapon to the ground. It must have been fired recently because as soon as she did so, it went off, sending a bullet into one of the guard's feet.

She smirked as she collapsed to her knees. "Sorry," she spat in Hebrew.

The guard was now cradling his bleeding foot, but Azzan gave to attention to him. Instead, he kept his eyes trained on his former partner.

He shoved Abby towards the two NCIS agents, and they caught her before she could fall.

"Take Ziva to my office," Azzan ordered, turning away from the scene.

Ziva swallowed the bile rising in her throat. She had seen Azzan in action; he was one of the few people in the world who could break her if he wanted to.

"Gorion, I can assure you that I can be much more entertaining than dear old Ziva can," Tony pleaded with a patronizing smirk. "Do you like movies? Because I know movies."

But Azzan didn't care to listen. He was already turning the corner out of the small, empty back room they were in.

The unharmed guard roughly grabbed Ziva's arm and began dragging her out of the room.

Ziva didn't resist. If it meant sparing her friends, she wouldn't resist.

Tony briefly imagined the consequences of battling the guards to get her back. The odds weren't looking so hot. He could only watch as she turned out of view as Azzan had done.

Two more guards escorted Tony and Abby back down into the basement. Tony practically begged to trade places with Ziva, but no one cared to listen to his pleads; they had their own orders to follow.

Ziva turned into a room, covered in mahogany paneling. It had once served to be an office of some sort, but now only held a few things. A computer, complete with web camera, sat on a wooden table. One wooden chair stood in the middle of the room.

Azzan stood calmly between the computer screen and chair, sharpening his knife.

She was escorted to the seat, followed by a session of being zip tied to the wood.

"Now, Ziva," Azzan stated, "you will tell me whatever I wish to know."

…

McGee, Gibbs, and a crew of fill-ins scoured over every inch of Gibbs's house, hoping to find some trace of the men who took half of their team.

But, try as they might, no one was able to find any evidence to tie a specific individual to the scene.

"The van's tire treads are being sent to the forensic fill-in," McGee informed his employer.

Gibbs didn't respond. He merely snapped his notepad closed, trying to keep his anger in check. After all, nearly his entire team had been kidnapped in his own house, right before his own eyes. And now the thieves had escaped scot-free. It was something Leroy Jethro Gibbs was incapable of tolerating.

"I want the results within the hour, McGee," he demanded as he walked to his car.

McGee quickly hurried to keep up with him. "On it, Boss." He watched in confusion as Gibbs slid into the driver's seat of his car.

"Um, where are you going, Boss?" he asked Gibbs. After all, McGee had limited protection detail at the crime scene, and Gibbs's arm was still in a sling due to the gun shot wound.

"I'm going to hunt down this Gorion guy," Gibbs responded, turning the ignition of his car on.

McGee quickly slid into the passenger seat of the car, causing Gibbs to stare at him.

"I would feel better if I was able to help you with the case, Boss," he explained with a firm nod.

Gibbs turned back to the street in front of him, pulling out of the driveway hastily.

"You think Gorion's connected to the kidnapping?" McGee clarified.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at his employee. He thought he had trained him better than that. "You think it was a coincidence that he showed up just when these things started happening, McGee?"

McGee shook his head. "No, Boss. Rule number thirty-nine: There is no such thing as coincidences."

A small part of him approved of McGee's comment, but Gibbs was still entirely focused on locating his team.

The car ride turned into one of complete and utterly uncomfortable silence. McGee twisted in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position that would relieve the tension in the small car; none of them worked. It was times like these that McGee desperately wished for Tony's annoying background babble.

"Do you think we'll find 'em, Boss?" McGee asked quietly, anticipating the worst answer.

Gibbs took his one good hand off of the steering wheel in order to smack McGee upside the back of his head.

"Right, Boss," McGee agreed with a sure nod.

McGee hoped he was right. He hoped that they weren't too late.

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	9. High Hopes

**Merci ****beaucoup**** pour vos… reviews. Je ne sais pas que les en français…**

**Thank you!**

**Chapter 9. High Hopes.**

"Thirty-two bottles of beer on the wall. . ." Abby's tired and worn voice trailed off after she glanced at Tony. If they had been in any other situation, he would have joined in on the classic song. But his mind was consumed with thoughts and worries for Ziva. He was not in the mood for the chant.

But Abby had encouraged him to join in, all the same. When he declined with a distant smirk, she started the song off, hoping he would join and be distracted, if only for a few moments.

But every time he contemplated just singing along with his friend, a faint but piercing shriek would sound from the top floor. Ziva's cries were so rare and so heart-wrenchingly awful, that Tony's mind was forced to turn to the worst as he imagined what would cause such sounds.

"Gibbs is going to find us," Abby murmured sadly and quietly. It was a rare sight: a sad and silent Abby. But if these characteristics were to appear in her, they would appear now.

Tony gave a nod. He wanted to be more cheerful for Abby, to be the funny guy, but his heart just wasn't in it. Not when he heard Ziva's pained cries ringing constantly in his ears. "Yeah. Probie is bound to track us with some computer geek-ness."

"I would've found us by now," she joked, a small smile hinting at her lips.

"My superior detective skills would have tracked us before we even got to this place," Tony joined in on the teasing.

They smiled at one another, taking comfort in humor for a few moments. Their mouths then turned downward when Ziva yelled from the other room.

Tony ground his teeth together, hoping and hoping that they would just leave the woman alone already. Hadn't they done enough? Was torture needed to get a point across?

Either way, Tony hated it. Every bit of it.

After a few more moments, Ziva's distressed voice faintly reached them again. Abby shuddered.

But for Tony, it was the final straw on the camel's back. He got to his feet and marched up the stairs to the locked door. He then smacked the door with his fist, yelling, "Hey! Why don't you pick on somebody your own size?"

Silence enveloped him, causing him to wonder if quoting "Catch That Kid" was a bad move.

Shouts from an Arabic tongue pushed through the door to Tony's and Abby's ears.

"Step back!" a heavily accented voice commanded Tony through the door.

Wary but hopeful, Tony stepped backwards until he was on the second to top step.

After a couple of moments of shuffling feet, the door swung open, and Ziva was thrown onto the ground just inside of the door. The men moved quickly and hastily, slamming and locking the door closed again seconds later.

As much as he wanted to wring his captors' necks, Tony knew it would be best to focus on Ziva.

Her face was swollen and bruised. Blood trickled down the side of her head, as well as cuts along her arms. It was painfully obvious that someone had taken both a knife and a fist to this poor woman. Tony cringed in sorrow and pity at the sight she displayed; she forced his mind to conjure up images of Ziva after her two months in Israel.

"Ziva," Tony breathed, wrapping her in his arms.

Ziva wasn't in a fully coherent state. She flinched when he touched her but calmed when she realized it was Tony. She swallowed back some bile that had accumulated in the back of her throat before speaking. "Hello, Tony."

"Ziva!" Abby squealed, running up the stairs to greet her friend. Once there, she wrapped the Israeli in a painful hug. "We were so worried."

"I am fine," Ziva responded in her reflex reaction.

"Let's go lie down," Tony suggested, beginning to pull Ziva into his arms so that he could carry her down the stairs.

Ziva retracted away from his movements. "I can walk."

"You can hardly stand," he pointed out as she pulled herself onto her feet.

"I can do both," she retorted, shuffling forward to the stairs as she leaned heavily on Tony.

Tony repressed a groan at her antics. All the same, he helped her down the stairs as much as she would let him.

The three gathered together, sitting in the center of the cement floor. Abby pressed Ziva for information on why they wanted to hurt her, but Ziva was too dazed to really answer.

And Tony knew that Azzan wanted information. Information that Ziva may have given, causing her to close her mouth on the subject all together.

The trio was permitted five minutes until they were interrupted again. Because five minutes later, the door was smacked open, revealing three armed guards in the doorway.

"Abigail Sciuto," one demanded with a thick Israeli accent.

Abby wore a brave mask. "What the hell do you want now?" She snapped to her booted feet, angry at them for hurting her friend.

Tony got up, gently laying Ziva on the ground now that she wasn't leaning against him. He moved in front of Abby with a forced smirk. "You can't take anymore of my people."

"'My people?'" Abby questioned in a whisper.

"I'm senior field agent," he reminded her in a hiss.

Abby rolled her eyes as Tony carried on. "Now. Go tell your boss that if he wants to talk with us, he can come down here and talk to me man to man.

"Unless, I am too much of a man for him," he continued, an arrogant grin growing on his face. "Which is completely understandable."

Azzan Gorion came to the doorway, calm and disconnected. "Do you wish me to speak with _you_, Anthony DiNozzo?"

Tony straightened his back a little and cleared his throat. He felt as if Gibbs had just walked up at an inconvenient time, once again. "That, and a little Chardonnay would be nice."

The corner of Azzan's mouth twitched, threatening to reveal a grin. He slowly began his way down the staircase, taking each stair methodically.

When his boots finally touched down on the basement floor, seven of his guards having marched down behind their master, he looked at Tony, eye to eye. "Then we will talk."

At the snap of Azzan's fingers, a guard slammed his rifle into Tony's abdomen, causing him to double over with a groan.

Ziva regained herself enough to realize what had just happened. She pushed herself onto her blood-dried and bruised arms. "Tony, are you alright?"

Before he could regain his composure and deliver a witty remark, the guard brought his rifle soaring up to between Tony's legs.

Tony's breath fled the scene as he fell to his knees with a small squeak.

"Tony," Ziva muttered anxiously.

"I'm dandy," he rasped. "Just give me a minute."

Abby became frustrated with the entire situation. They had kidnapped her, tortured Ziva, stuffed her in a hole, and then beat Tony. She was done. In an attempt to relieve her frustration, she brought her fist flying into Azzan's face.

The guards raised their guns at Abby as Azzan stumbled backwards at the unexpected blow. He cradled his bleeding nose as he stared at Abby. "Bring her to my office," he ordered his guards in Hebrew.

Three guards descended on her quickly, grabbing her by her arms before dragging her up the stairs. She cursed at them and Azzan all the way up.

Tony and Ziva slowly began coming back to their feet.

Azzan watched them as blood continued to trickle from his nostril. "Tie up Anthony DiNozzo. I have something special planned for the two of them."

Ziva latched onto Tony's arm, but the guards shoved her to the ground easily; her concussion continued to weigh on her heavily.

"Ziva," Tony murmured to her, hoping she would confirm that she was alright. The guards marched him to one of the chairs that was bolted to the floor in the corner of the room. One of the guards walked up, securing him with zip ties.

Ziva groggily pushed herself back onto her forearms, gathering the strength and awareness to stand up again.

Her efforts were unnecessary; a moment later, the guards marched back to Ziva, hoisting her to feet by her bruised arms.

The guard supply was added to, subtracted from, and recycled, but all of them meshed together in Ziva's mind. All she knew was that two more of them came down the stairs with a rather large tub of water.

Tony, still strapped to the bolted chair, was forced to watch as the tub was slammed in front of Ziva. The guards then pushed her in front of the water, threatening to dunk her head in.

Azzan, satisfied with this turn of events, turned away from the four guards left in the room. He turned to Tony with a grin and said, "I recommend you tell me what dear Ziva did not."

Tony looked around Azzan, watching Ziva. His stomach grew uneasy as he imagined what the guards would do if he refused to answer.

Azzan stood in front of Tony and gripped his chin, forcing Tony to look at him. Azzan's breath encircled Tony, further deepening his nausea.

"Tell me about Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

* * *

><p>Gibbs sat at his chair, agitated and silent. He had no leads to go on and no team members to decipher them. He was trapped with his own thoughts. As a result, Gibbs merely sat, replaying the tragic turn of events in his mind. What moves he should have made, the precautions he should have taken, everything wrong constantly haunting his mind. If members of his team were to die because of this, Gibbs felt solely responsible.<p>

"Boss, we just got a hit for the Gorion's BOLO," McGee announced as he hastily tapped away at his keyboard.

Gibbs moved away from his chair and quickly marched over to stand behind McGee. He watched, mostly unable to read the programs McGee was using. Although McGee knew that his boss was more or less uneducated when it came to technology, he couldn't help feeling a pressure weigh on him as Gibbs looked over his shoulder.

"Where, McGee?" Gibbs demanded.

After a couple more clicks, McGee responded, "On the corner of Richmond and Seventh. A man fitting Gorion's description bought gas there five minutes ago."

"Anything else?"

More clicks. "The witness is a retired cop. He wrote down the license plate."

"Type it in," Gibbs demanded, waving his hand at the computer. Slight annoyance stirred within him that something like this hadn't been reported sooner.

McGee gave a nod and typed it into the DMV database. Less than a minute later, although it was a good few stressed, anxiety-filled seconds later, the DMV got a match: it was a rent-a-car registered out to one of Azzan Gorion's known aliases.

"We got 'em," Gibbs stated. His gut knew that this would work.

Gibbs already had his gun holstered to his hip, so he marched to the elevator without a backwards glance.

McGee hastily grabbed his own gun, not even having the time to shut down his computer if he wanted to catch up to his employer.

Gibbs stepped into the elevator, McGee sliding through the closing slit after him.

The two were going to find their team. Lives were depending on it.

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	10. Executing the Plans

**Again, thank you, thank you, **_**thank you**_** for your beautiful reviews and alerts! I'm endlessly grateful.**

_**Chapter 10. Executing the Plans.**_

"In all honesty, I have no idea who this Leroy Jethro Gibbs you speak of is." Tony's gloating smirk was pained but existent. He didn't want to give in and speak after Ziva endured torture to remain silent. All of her pain would be in vain. Yet, if he did not speak now, she would only be tortured more.

Half of Azzan's mouth curved upwards. He expected this answer and was satisfied to get it. This response would mean watching Tony's reaction as Ziva floundered.

And she did.

All Azzan Gorion did was wink at his guards as a cue, and they shoved her head into the tub of chilled water. She struggled against the men, trying to get oxygen, but they held her under. Only until Azzan gave them a subtle nod did they release her.

Ziva came out of the water, dripping and coughing. She forced the painful water from her lungs and focused on regaining her breath.

Azzan turned back to Tony. His arms were becoming red and raw from the chafing against the zip ties. He struggled against his bounds, hating the sight presented before him, but his bonds remained secure.

"Now," Azzan resumed, "would you care to revise your answer?"

Tony ground his teeth as he glared at Azzan. "Why don't you torture me, Azzan? Going for the women isn't an approvable style."

Azzan chuckled. "Because, Agent DiNozzo, torturing Ziva is a much more. . . " he paused, struggling for the right word, "_effective_ way of torturing you."

Tony continued to glare at his captor, hoping that his looks could truly kill.

Azzan waited a good minute for a confession before he turned back to his guards.

With a wink, Ziva was smothered with water.

Tony fought against the zip ties, and they festered at his skin. He couldn't bare the sight of Ziva flailing to maintain her oxygen intake.

Azzan noticed the way Tony's mouth formed a hard white line, his lips pressing against one another so they could not open. He gave a nod to his men and looked at Tony. "Tell me about Special Agent Gibbs."

"What do you want to know?" Tony demanded bitterly, a sarcastic tone continuing to underlie his voice.

"Do not answer him, Tony!" Ziva commanded angrily, despite her panting breaths. "He will only kill us both once you answer him!"

Azzan waved to his guards, and they pushed her back under the water.

"What do you want to know?" Tony repeated, an edge of hastiness mixing into his tone as Ziva remained without oxygen. "He's an ex-marine, drinks his coffee black, got a lot of wives. Well, ex-wives, that is. He's not into polygamy, if that's what you're thinking."

A slight edge of desperation was removed from Tony after Azzan commanded the guards to bring Ziva out of the water.

"He was a marine?" Azzan questioned.

Tony narrowed his eyes at him. "And he drinks his coffee black. Typically, if you want to play a game of Telephone, you have to repeat the message to someone else."

Azzan ignored his humor. "When was he a marine?"

"How should I know? 'Marine' and 'Gibbs' are just so synonymous, I'd assume he enlisted when he was still in the womb," he mocked.

"When?" Azzan questioned again.

"1495 B.C.," Tony responded, spitting out a random date. He leaned forward and met Azzan's hard glare with one of his own. "_I don't know_."

Azzan turned and marched towards the stairs on his heavy boots. As he passed his guards and Ziva, he waved his hand in a careless motion towards them. "Kill her," he commanded.

He didn't even bother to look as they shoved her head back into the water.

"I answered your damn questions!" Tony shouted angrily at the cold man. "Let her go!"

Azzan paused and looked at Tony, as if surprised that Tony would say such a thing. "Yet, I never said a thing about releasing Ziva David. Killing her was the only reason I brought you all here at all."

Then he continued up the stairs and out of the room where Ziva floundered to preserve her life for as long as permitted. Azzan did not even bother to close the door; he had other business to attend to, more lives to destroy. In his mind, they all deserved to die. It was only right.

Tony fought against his restraints harshly, knowing that Ziva's lifespan was shortening considerably with every passing moment. He had to save her.

Her kicks and thrashes against the three guards restraining her picked up a quicker pace as the stakes became direr; life was being reduced to a matter of a few seconds for Ziva David.

As Tony struggled and kicked, the chair he sat on began to move. One of the bolts had come undone, leaving only one bolt left. Tony pulled against the chair with his restrained arms and kicked against the chair leg with his free feet. After all, what was the point of restraining a man's legs when he was tied to a bolted chair?

After a few, too long moments, the last bolt became loose. With another kick and another pull, the chair became only restrained to Tony's arms.

By this time, Ziva's fight had left her. Unconsciousness cradled her in its pitying arms, preparing her soul to enter into the afterlife. Azzan had made it clear that this was her time to perish, and there had been nothing to stop Death's swift descent.

Because it had taken all three guards to restrain Ziva, they were all consumed in their work when Tony came at them. With a swing of his metal chair, one of them was out cold on the spot.

The second one had time to fight against Tony, but it took only a moment before Tony got the drop on him, too.

Now it was down to Tony and the last guard. This man had had time to prepare and time to draw his gun. He pointed it dangerously at Tony, just waiting for Tony to make a move.

"Hey, man," Tony spoke cautiously, slowly taking steps towards the guard. "I don't want any trouble. We could be buddies. Pals. Are you fond of the term 'Probie?'"

"Stay back!" the guard commanded, not understanding much of what Tony even said.

Tony raised his eyebrows, continuing his rattle to distract the guard from his progressive movements. "It's more-so a term of endearment. I even call Ziva a probie sometimes. Mostly when I play the superiority card, but it's still a term of endearment. It kind of suits you. . ." Tony needed one more step. "Probie." He stepped.

And the gun was kicked out the guard's hands, flying against the wall. Tony then took that opportunity to tackle the man to the ground, leaving him stunned and in a slight state of shock. Tony pressed his knee against the guard's windpipe and smirked. "Now untie me, Probie."

The guard slowly reached for his knife, seeing no other options. He cut away Tony's bonds, and Tony threw the metal chair off of his back.

Tony then smiled down at the guard and delivered a hard kick to the man's cranium. "Lights out, Probie," he muttered satisfactorily to himself.

He then reached Ziva. He murmured her name as he crouched down next to her body.

Her lips were blue, her eyes unable to open. She had fallen to the ground and away from the water tub during Tony's fight with the guards, but a small puddle of water had followed her down and lied underneath her on the concrete.

"Come on, Ziva," Tony chanted, trying to get her to return to herself. "Wake up."

He leaned down and pressed his ear against her mouth. No breath escaped her lips. He leaned down and pressed his ear against her chest. No blood pumped through her heart.

"Come on, Ziva!" Tony repeated as he moved into chest compressions. "Don't do this! You're forfeiting life! Nobody likes a poor sport. Come on!"

Her body twitched every time Tony forced her heart to beat, but no life returned to Ziva's corpse.

"COME ON!"

He paused the chest compressions to breath into her mouth, allowing her clogged lungs to expand. He then resumed pumping her heart, forcing the blood through her veins.

Hope began to flee his sorrowful heart. How could God be so cruel as to permit another teammate, another best friend, to die on him? He didn't know if he could move past this one. When he believed her to be dead in Israel, he couldn't move past it. For him, Ziva was The One.

This caused desperation to fill Tony. His chest compressions increased in intensity and speed. "Come on, Ziva! I need you. We all need you here. Come on."

In the middle of a chest compression, Ziva jolted back to life. Her body seized for a moment in order for her to release the water in her lungs that had been holding her captive to Death. She coughed up the water, sucking in breath like she possessed an endless need to draw in a continuous breath.

Tony pulled her against him and kissed the top of her head. She coughed and panted against him, and they clutched each other with such a desperation that one would assume that they were air for the other.

"Tony," Ziva murmured in a raw voice.

"You're O.K., Ziva," he promised. "We're going to get out of here. It's going to be alright."

She closed her eyes and leaned against him, all of her strength gone. It had been such a long, powerful day. She craved rest.

But Tony knew that it couldn't be offered yet. "Ziva, we've got to get moving."

"Go without me," she muttered, wanting to sleep so desperately.

Tony let a small chuckle escape him as he climbed to his feet. He then pulled her up to lean against him. "I'll tell you what: if you get out of here with me, I'll give you a foot rub as you fall asleep on a king size bed."

The idea was so appealing and luxurious to Ziva that she couldn't pass it up. With a repressed groan, she trudged forward.

Tony smiled, glad a battle plan had been put into action.

After grabbing one of the guard's rifles, the two climbed the stairs and walked through the open doorway.

The first room was empty, as was the library that followed. The remaining four guards were preoccupied with Azzan and Abby.

"What about Abby?" Ziva murmured, voicing Tony's thoughts. "We cannot just leave the poor girl here."

"'Workin' on it," Tony responded, looking cautiously around the guardless and bookless library.

"Take this," Tony commanded, handing Ziva the gun. "If anyone—_except me or Abby_—comes, shoot 'em."

"What will you do?" she asked, warily. She worried for her friends, as well as her ability to shoot properly. She was still quite dazed.

Tony threw her a grin. "I am _Very_ Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, Senior Field Agent. I will lead us to victory with my bare hands."

He turned away from her with a proud smirk, only to trip over a rug after his second step.

He regaining his footing and cleared his throat, hoping Ziva hadn't noticed that.

She did. "I do hope that you will not be the _only_ one leading us to victory. We may end up doomed instead."

He threw her a sneer, which she returned.

After scouring the entire abandoned building, Tony returned to Ziva empty-handed. "She's not here," he admitted shamefully. "Gorion must've taken her someplace else."

"Then we will wait for them, yes?"

Tony helped Ziva to her feet and pursed his lips. "We have to get out while it's empty, Ziva."

"Tony, we cannot just leave Abby," she pressed.

"Abby's not here," he reminded her, "and as much as I don't like it, we won't accomplish anything just sitting here waiting for the guards and Gorion to show up."

Ziva repressed any arising protests. She knew Tony was right; they would be better suited to track their forensic scientist back at the NCIS headquarters.

They only hoped they weren't too late.

* * *

><p>"Where are we going?" Abby questioned the two guards in the van with her. "If you take a left at the next exit, we'll be at NCIS. You could meet Gibbs. I think you guys will like him. That is, if he doesn't kill you on the spot. Which he might. He kind of has a motive to."<p>

"Shut it," a guard hissed.

"I just thought you guys should know what you're up against," she protested. "It only seems fair. Obviously, you guys were just hired to do Gorion's dirty work, so you should know what you've gotten yourselves into."

Silence met her. The guard driving ignored her completely, but the guard in the passenger seat worried over her words.

Abby sank back against the seat. Despite her hands being zip tied together, she was preparing to enjoy the show.

Three, two, one—

"Amzi, we should listen to her," the guard in the passenger seat hissed to his coworker.

"Tzabar, shut up," Amzi snapped back.

"_If we are being hunted, should we not know who the hunter is_?" Tzabar pointed out, switching to his comfortable, Arabic tongue.

"_We are not stopping to listen to this bitch's lies_!" Amzi spat, also converting to his native language. "_We are stopping for gas, waiting for Azzan, and then taking her to Hopkins like Azzan ordered_!"

The three pulled up to the gas station that Azzan had scouted out before. They were to wait here until the van containing two guards and Azzan pulled in.

"_You are a fool_!" Tzabar retaliated.

With a despising, belittling glare, Amzi threw the American dollars at Tzabar. "_Go buy the gas. Azzan will not wait for us_."

Tzabar wanted to curse at his companion, but he settled for silent inner turmoil; he didn't want to yet tip Amzi off that, as soon as they were paid, he planned to kill Amzi and steal his share of the money.

Tzabar then get out of the black van and hooked the gas nuzzle up to the tank. It was at that moment, he was swarmed by four NCIS agents.

"Hands up!" McGee shouted, his gun drawn at Tzabar. "Hands on your head!"

The Israeli stiffened with a curse, but he complied, nonetheless.

"I told you to wait for my command, McGee," Gibbs hissed.

McGee looked at him with a confused expression as he cuffed Tzabar. "I thought you gave the signal."

By the look of Gibbs's hard, incredulous stare, McGee could see that he had assumed incorrectly. "But I can see now that a sneeze was not the signal. . ."

Gibbs didn't bother with a reply. Instead, he shoved past McGee and drew his gun as he opened the van's door.

No one was there.

Gibbs shoved Tzabar's shoulder in frustration. "Where the hell are my people?"

Tzabar looked at the empty van in shock. He hadn't noticed Amzi escaping the van with Abby in tow. "_Son of a bitch_. . ." he muttered in Arabic, now seeing that Amzi had abandoned him while he had the chance.

"English!" Gibbs spat.

"My colleague took her," he grumbled in reply.

"Where?"

Tzabar didn't care to respond.

"Where?" Gibbs repeated, giving Tzabar's shoulder another shove.

The wheat field across the street ruffled in the breeze, revealing a quick flash of Amzi's dark jacket.

"There," he answered, pointing to the field.

Gibbs marched away from him as McGee hastily handed the suspect off to one of the back-up agents. McGee hurried after his boss as they chased their second suspect into the field.

The wheat was tall, just over six feet. It was only when the tall stalks swayed with the wind was anything other than the continuous tan visible.

Without the wind's assistance, Gibbs and McGee froze, waiting for a sound to point them in the correct direction.

Silence.

Stalks of wheat whispering as the seed heads rustled against each other.

Silence.

Silence.

Muffled shouts. McGee and Gibbs heard the sound at the same time. They both sprinted off northwest, having heard the sounds from that direction.

They came to a small clearing where Amzi anticipated them, dangerously pointing a gun at Abby's temple as he smothered Abby's shouts with his hand.

Gibbs and McGee had their guns drawn on the man, threatening to pull the triggers at the wrong twitch.

"NCIS," Gibbs growled, although he was grateful to see Abby more unharmed than not. "Let her go."

Amzi's eyes twitched between the two agents, prey caught in the predator's trap. At this moment, he wished he had listened to Tzabar and waited to hear about his hunters. He could have used something against Gibbs now, but he had nothing.

"Let her go," Gibbs repeated again, a harder tone lining his voice this time. He took a step towards Amzi.

It was the wrong move. It broke Amzi out of his frenzied trance, causing him to shove the barrel of the gun against Abby's head. "Stop!" he commanded.

Abby's eyes met Gibbs. She pointed her eyes deliberately downward, trying to get his eyes to follow.

When they did, she signed.

He watched her do the sign once more, trying to understand. Then it clicked.

The right hand, clamping down on the left: _Bite_.

So the second Abby did, Gibbs was ready. Abby's teeth sank into the flesh on Amzi's hand, catching him completely by surprise. He pulled away from Abby on reflex, and Gibbs's gun fired a bullet into his shoulder before he could reach for her again.

Abby ran to Gibbs and McGee, causing Amzi to take a furious last stand. With a loathing glare, he pointed the gun directly at Abby.

A shot rang out.

With most people, they take on a surprised expression as they lie down to die. They become surprised and simply astounded at the turn of events.

But Amzi wasn't most people. Even as he sank to his knees, and then to his final death, he retained his hard, hateful expression. It was a characteristic he probably carried with him into the afterlife.

Abby ran into Gibbs's awaiting arms. Well, arm. He could only extend one of them, seeing as how his other was restrained by a sling.

"Gibbs," she murmured gratefully.

She clutched her father-figure, glad to finally be in her safe haven.

"Good to have you back, Abbs," he mumbled into her hair, planting a kiss to her head.

McGee placed his hand on her back, causing Abby to then, in turn, latch onto him in a tight hug as well.

"McGee," she murmured.

McGee hugged her back, happy to have Abby back, as well as an excuse to hold her in his arms. "'You O.K.?"

"'Fine, McGee," she answered. "We have to help Tony and Ziva. When they pulled me out of there, Gorion was going to torture them."

With a nod from Gibbs, the three hurried to car.

From a distance, Azzan had watched the scene unfold. It was slightly to be expected, which was why he had sent his guards as bait to the gas station before he returned there, just in case any cops decided to ambush. Still, he cursed as he watched both of his guards fail and lose one of their valuable assets.

"_They are not answering back at the basement_," one of Azzan's most trusted guards reported, having tried to walkie-talkie the unconscious guards.

Azzan cursed again, grabbing the walkie-talkie and demanding a response from his employees.

Silence answered them.

Azzan threw the walkie-talkie to the ground and commanded his other guard to start driving the van.

"_What do you think has happened to them_?" his first guard asked.

"_What the hell do you think happened_?" Azzan shot back angrily. "_They have abandoned me, or Anthony and Ziva have escaped. Either way, it does not matter; they are dead to us now_."

"_Where to, Azzan_?" the driving guard asked after a moment of Azzan's fuming silence.

"_Find Ziva_," he ordered bitterly. "_Find Anthony. Find them! We still have to deliver Anthony to Hopkins_."

"_And if Ziva is alive? What shall we do then_?"

Azzan turned to his inferior. "_We kill her again. For good_."

***Black and white + Photograph sound goodness***

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	11. Impact

**Thank you so, so, so much for the reviews and alerts! I'd like to give a special shout-out to the wonderful NeverMessWithTeddyBears. Happy birthday, Katarina!**

_**Chapter 11. Impact.**_

"Come on, Zee," Tony encouraged. "We've gotta keep moving."

Ziva's eyes fluttered, her mind straying in and out of consciousness. It was becoming much more of a challenge just to keep herself awake. She needed an unpermitted rest.

Tony, supporting the majority of her weight, kept his arms wrapped around her waist as they continued on. He needed her to stay with him. He was afraid of what might happen if he allowed her to close her eyes. What if Azzan found them as they rested? Or, worse, what if Ziva's eyes simply never opened again?

"I need to rest, Tony," she mumbled, barely coherent of her surroundings.

Tony pressed his lips together. He was hoping that if they ignored her wishes to rest, they would just disappear.

The couple continued on down the road, only needing to get out of this abandoned desert highway and into civilization.

"Just a little farther," Tony thought aloud, seeing the outskirts of a town in the distance. "Who the hell put a library out here in the first place? No wonder it was abandoned."

He looked down at Ziva, hoping she would crack a smile. Instead, her face was void of emotion, on the brink of falling into the grips of unconsciousness.

"Just a little farther," Tony repeated, willing the town to come closer.

Just then, the sound of tires grinding against the dirt road reached Tony's ears. Hope welled inside of him, causing him to look eagerly behind him, towards the sound's origin.

A black van rolled towards the NCIS agents, quickening the pace of Tony's heart as Ziva remained oblivious to her environment.

Tony waved desperately to the van, hoping beyond hope that they would slow down and give them a ride.

So when the van continued to roll on past the couple without a pause, Tony's hopes sank like a rock falling into water.

"HEY!" Tony shouted, still praying that they would turn around and offer a ride.

It may have been the desperation on Tony's face or the pain on Ziva's that caused the driver to stop. Either way, the van's taillights illuminated as it rolled to a stop a few yards away from the agents.

Tony rushed towards the van, hauling Ziva with him. He ran up to the passenger side's window, tapping anxiously on the glass.

The driving man, perhaps around Gibbs's age, rolled down the window and stared curiously at the two. "Can I help you?"

"Please," Tony pleaded desperately, slightly out of breath. He swallowed, trying to wet his dry and parched mouth. "We need a ride to the hospital."

The driver sized the two up, looking suspiciously at Ziva. "What's with her?"

"She needs medical attention," Tony stated the obvious, becoming slightly annoyed that this man wasn't encouraging them into the van yet.

After another moment of studying her, the driver gave a nod as he waved them into the back of the van.

Tony scrambled to slide the door open, hastily helping Ziva lie down in the back of it. There were no seats in the back of the van, only dark flooring. Tony then turned to close the van door, only to find that the door had no handle to neither close nor open the door.

"Oh, sorry," the driver said, pressing a button on his door that closed it. "It's my work vehicle. It's not really used for people, just equipment transportation."

Tony gave a nod, not really paying attention to the man. He was focused on Ziva.

"Tony," she muttered, slipping back into a momentary consciousness.

"Hey," he murmured with a small smile.

"Are we back at NCIS yet?" she asked groggily, her eyes never truly staying open.

"Not yet," he admitted. "Almost there." The last part was a lie; they were a good half hour away from the NCIS building. But Tony felt it would be comforting to say, all the same.

She gave a slight nod before falling back asleep.

Tony watched after her, stroking the side of her cheek reassuringly. It was an odd sight to see Ziva so weak; it was such an oxymoron.

"What happened to her?" the driver asked, watching questioningly from the rear view mirror.

"She was attacked," Tony grumbled, for once, not really up for small talk.

"What did you say your names were?"

"Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo and Special Agent David," he answered, leaning against the wall of the van. "Working for NCIS."

The driver dropped the eye contact with the agent in his mirror.

There was silence in the van as they slowly drove into the town's city limits.

"Ya know, typically when someone introduces themself, the other person responds with their own name," Tony hinted bluntly. He was too tired and anxious for pleasantries. Still, his humor was not diminished.

"Todd Hopkins," the driver answered, his voice taking on a new, colder edge than before.

Tony leaned his head against the van's side, wishing Ziva was fine and making remarks at his jokes. He just wished she could lie against him as they snuggled deep into fluffy comforters, ignoring the sheets altogether. He wanted to replay when they had lied in bed on a rainy Sunday morning, naming and racing the raindrops that slid down their windows.

He became lost in thought, replaying happier times as he watched reality's Ziva lie unconscious in a random man's van.

It wasn't until the town's hospital came into view that Tony snapped out of his memories and back into reality. "Just pull up here," he requested, moving into a crouch so he could transport Ziva as soon as the van stopped.

Hopkins looked at Tony from his rear view mirror then looked away. He reached down for a walkie-talkie and pressed a button before uttering, "I've found them."

Tony watched Hopkins, becoming confused.

"Is she alive?" an all-too familiar voice crackled back.

"Yes," Hopkins answered.

"7th Street," Azzan replied.

Hopkins dropped the walkie-talkie and replaced it with a gun, pointed directly at Tony. "Try anything, and you both die."

Tony glared at the man, realizing Hopkins had known who they were all along. He imagined Gibbs's head slap for not following Rule Number Thirty-Nine: There is no such thing as coincidence. It had been all-too coincidental that a van drive by in the middle of nowhere when it was most needed.

Tony glanced at Ziva and found her to have her eyes open for the first time since leaving the abandoned library. She realized the danger was not over—they had only walked into more of it.

"There is a rule about this," Ziva muttered, just audible enough for Hopkins to hear her. "Gibbs taught us that there is no such thing as coincidence."

A small bit of happiness welled up inside of Tony as he realized that Ziva's mind was on the same track as his.

But Ziva's comment caused a negative effect on Hopkins; he cursed, stepping more on the gas. "Gibbs," he commented, spitting the name out. "You know nothing about that son of a bitch."

Ever so slightly, Tony moved closer to Hopkins. If only he could become distracted, Tony could knock the gun away from him. "Enlighten me."

"That bastard killed my family!" Hopkins responded bitterly.

Although they had seen Gibbs kill before, the two agents had a hard time conjuring up a Gibbs that kills families.

"We were in the Marines," Hopkins explained, hatred clouding his vision. "And when my family was kidnapped, beaten, and held for ransom, I needed Gibbs to help me save them; he had saved me enough that I trusted him.

"But he let them_ die_," he spat, his grip on the gun loosening as he became wrapped up in his own thoughts.

"Must've been hard," Tony sympathized through clenched teeth. His eyes never left the gun's barrel.

"You're damn right it was hard!" Hopkins responded harshly, glaring at Tony's reflection in the rear view mirror. "Leroy Gibbs stripped me of all I had left in the world! My wife, my son—they were murdered because of _him_!"

"And how does that make you feel?" Tony asked in the calm, nonchalant tone of therapist.

That did the trick. Hopkins took his eyes off the road to give Tony a confused look. "What the hell do you mean? I just told you—"

At that moment, Tony lurched forward, tackling the gun to the floor of the van. Hopkins managed to retain his grip on the weapon as it sank off of its target, but Tony kept it carefully pointed away from himself and Ziva.

"Get off me!" Hopkins screeched, attempting to pry Tony off of his hand. Tony managed to kneel on the pressure points in Hopkins's fingers. Hopkins, now completely taking his focus off of driving, pushed against Tony's weight. He was no longer concerned with getting the gun back; now, he only wanted the sharp pain in his fingers to cease.

It was then that the car, annoyed at a lack of a driver, decided to veer in its own direction, straight into a brick building's wall.

Movements happened quickly after that. At first, the impact knocked Tony backwards and off of Hopkins's hand. The airbags deployed, one of them being sent crashing into Hopkins's face. Ziva managed to grab ahold of the seat next to her and brace against the impact for the most part, but she was still jostled into rolling into the seat.

Tony grabbed ahold of the passenger seat, preventing him from being thrown through the windshield. Still, the car's momentum sent him forward, his head bumping against the shattering glass.

The car stilled and all three passengers fell backwards. Tony's forehead was bleeding and bruised, but he had narrowly escaped a concussion by bracing himself against the seat. Ziva lied against the floor, gathering her nonexistent energy to move.

Tony pressurized his wound as he snatched the gun off of the floor. He then checked Hopkins over, making sure that he wouldn't disturb them.

Hopkins had smacked his skull against his side window, effectively rendering him unconscious. He laid his bleeding head against the deployed airbag, dripping blood down the white fabric.

"Zee-vah?" Tony asked, trying to relive happier times through the use of her nickname. "You O.K.?"

Ziva managed to pull herself into a sitting position with a wince. "I am alright. And you?"

"Fine and dandy," he announced, pushing the button that allowed the backdoors to open. "You wouldn't have a head wrap, would you?"

Ziva peered through exhausted eyelids at Tony's bleeding forehead. With lethargic movements, she tore the end of her shirt in small increments. Once finished, she handed the shredded material to Tony.

"Thanks," he muttered, slightly distracted with the way that Ziva's abdomen was now exposed. "I could've done that."

Ziva closed her eyes and muttered, "I will lend you my whole shirt if you allow me to sleep."

Tony tied the fabric around his head, feeling like he was wearing a tribal headband. "Are you telling me you'll strip for me?"

Tony began scooping Ziva out of the van, allowing her to rest in his arms.

"Let sleeping cats lie," she mumbled, leaning against his arm.

"Dogs," he corrected, staring around the small, unpopulated street. Had it been abandoned as well?

"That, too," she amended drowsily.

Tony stepped out of the van with Ziva in his arms, walking a few steps as he tried to get his bearings. No one was on this small alleyway, this being just an abandoned extension of a street. Civilization loomed a few blocks over, back where the hospital was located.

He looked up and read the street sign: 7th street.

This was where Azan was coming. Where Gorion would surround them at any moment now.

* * *

><p>"Where the hell are they, McGee?" Gibbs demanded of his agent.<p>

Abby looked around the abandoned library's basement with a frown. Tony and Ziva should have been here. Had they somehow managed to escape?

McGee peered at the bloodstains on the ground, swallowing back a lump in his throat. "I don't know, Boss."

"Find them!" Gibbs commanded, turning on his heel to run up the stairs and make a phone call to Vance.

"We can find them, Timmy," Abby comforted her worrying friend. She placed her hand on his shoulder. "Haven't we always before?"

McGee threw her a half-smile. "I should be the one comforting you."

Abby gave him a small smile before entrapping him in a hug.

The two enjoyed this moment, despite the terrible environment. They took refuge in the warmth radiating off of the other's body and the comfort they felt because of it. That is, they did until they were interrupted by the ringing of McGee's cell phone.

"McGee," he announced after pulling the phone out of his pocket.

"Probie! Get Boss, and come to 7th street."

McGee gave Abby a surprised look. "Tony?"

**Workin' on the next chapter now. :) Reviews?**


	12. Terminal

**Thank you so much for all of your reviews and alerts! I love them all.**

**The story is near to drawing to a close…**

_**Chapter 12. Terminal.**_

Tony leaned Ziva against the side of the phone booth after walking to 8th street. Perhaps being a street over from Azan's destination would buy them some time.

Tony began rummaging through his pockets before turning to Ziva. "Do you have a dime?"

Ziva gave him a doubting look. "Why would I have a dime, Tony? We have just been held captive."

"Well, a phone call is ten cents, so we need a dime," Tony pointed out, still searching the pockets of his jeans.

Ziva sighed and began fishing through her pockets as well. Miraculously, she pulled out a dime.

"Hey, what do ya know," Tony said with a grin. "Looks like luck's in our favor today."

Ziva rolled her eyes, ready to point out all of their bad luck, but she let it pass; it would require too much effort to argue.

"Alright, we have one call," Tony stated, staring at the valuable silver coin. "Do we call Gibbs or McGee?"

The couple looked at one another before both saying, "Gibbs."

Tony quickly stuck the coin into the slot and dialed Gibbs's phone number, hope and excitement swelling within him once more. But when a busy signal reached his ears, his hope sank quickly once again.

With a grimace, Tony put the phone back on the cradle. "It's busy."

Ziva quietly ranted out a few curses in Hebrew.

Tony began fishing through his pockets once more, striking luck once again. A quarter was found in his back pocket. He held it up happily in front of Ziva's glare. "By Jove's, I've got it! I've cracked the case!"

Ziva continued to glare at Tony for his idiocy.

"It's Sherlock Holmes, Zee-vah," Tony clarified as he filed the next coin into the coin slot.

Ziva leaned against the booth and closed her eyes again.

Tony snatched up his nickel and dime as he hung up the phone once more. "He didn't answer his house phone either."

Ziva gave her partner an incredulous stare. "You did not call McGee? For God's sake, Tony, call McGee!"

Tony straightened his back as he eyed Ziva. "Good to see you've got your personality back."

Ziva glared at him out of the corner of her eye as Tony tapped in McGee's phone number.

"McGee," the agent answered.

"Probie!" Tony barked, relieved to finally hear his friend's voice. "Get Boss, and come to 7th Street."

"Tony?" McGee asked in disbelief.

"No, McGullible," Tony mocked with an eye roll, "it's Humphrey Bogart."

McGee swallowed back a lump in his throat before running up the basement stairs, Abby right on his six. "Boss! Tony's on the phone."

Gibbs looked up from his phone call with Vance before tossing his phone to a random agent.

"Gibbs," he barked into McGee's phone.

"Can I talk to him?" Abby asked, a large smile spreading across her face.

Gibbs turned away from the group to take the call.

"Hey, Boss," Tony greeted. "Beautiful day today, isn't it?"

"Where the hell are you, DiNozzo?" Gibbs demanded.

"8th Street," Tony answered. "Just off of 7th. Azzan's behind this, planning on meeting on 7th within the next five minutes."

"Ziva?" Gibbs asked, wondering of his agent's welfare. He packed Abby, McGee, and a couple of the dispatch officers into the NCIS van before taking off at a dangerous speed.

"She's not doing too good, Boss," Tony responded with a glance at his partner. Sweat dewed on her pale face, making her clammy.

Gibbs threw the phone to McGee, putting his full focus on speeding to meet his agents.

"We'll be there in five minutes, Tony," McGee promised.

Gibbs, not accepting this statement, slammed harder on the accelerator.

"Make that three," Abby chimed into the phone.

Tony hung up the pay phone and returned to Ziva. "How you holdin' up?" He eyed her warily, worried at the state she was presenting. Would it be much longer before her body demanded a force shut down? One could only survive with so little rest after torture and heart failure.

Ziva concentrated on her breathing, a common tactic she actively practiced during her Mossad training years. She had found that it was much easier to bear something if it wasn't dwelled on. "Gibbs will be here shortly, yes?"

She peered out of the corner of her eye to see Tony's nod before reclosing her eyes.

"Then we will wait," she stated.

Tony looked around this empty street, feeling exposed out in the open. Was there some kind of shelter near by?

The sounds of vans' tires screeching and rolling down the pavement filtered through the air to Tony and Ziva.

Ziva gave Tony a worried look. "Gibbs . . .?"

Tony shook his head, wrapping his arm around her to help support her weight. "It's too soon."

The two hurried their shuffle into the only place that they could see—an alley in between two brick buildings.

Alas, after hurrying down the shady hallway, they met another brick wall, blocking off all exists.

"The worst always happens it alleys," Tony pointed out glumly.

Ziva leaned up against the cool, dirt-coated brick wall after traveling to the farthest corner of the entrapping alley. "Tell me a story."

DiNozzo gave her a confused look. She had always protested against his ramblings before. Was she really this out of it? "What?"

"Tony, I am allowing you to rant about whatever you desire," she stated bluntly, just wanting him to seize the opportunity. Her aches and wounds from the torture she had endured, along with the extreme fatigue from her near death experience, were causing Ziva David to want to become entranced with anything besides reality. "Distract me."

Tony wetted his lips before beginning his ramble. "There once was a stealthy, yet seductive, ninja named Ziva David. . ."

Ziva gave him a doubting look, causing Tony to hold up his hands in a defenseless surrender. "Hey, I'm just sticking with the facts.

"Ziva was a Very Special Agent, one of the most special, in fact.

"Then," Tony continued, becoming more animated as he fell into his imagination, "one day, she met Tony, the most handsome and terribly dashing Very Special Agent that had ever lived."

"If I already was a Field Agent," Ziva corrected, "I would have already met you, yes?"

Tony hushed her and continued on. "The two fell madly in love, and—"

"I would not call it '_madly_ in love,'" she voiced her opinion, still refusing to open her eyes. "Of course, we were attracted to each other, but—"

"_And_," Tony continued, "that was when the terribly handsome Tony approached her with a proposal that they accompany one another for dinner." His eyes looked into a far away moment as the memories of happier people flooded his mind. "She laughed at his witty jokes, and he corrected her terribly wretched English idioms.

"She seemed a little surprised when she kissed him. He leaned in eagerly to meet her lips. He'd never felt anyone as warm as her. I think it had something to do with the weather. I never wanted to let her go. I'd never wanted to hold onto someone as badly as her…"

Tony's eyes snapped out of the events that had taken place that night and back to reality. He looked down at Ziva who was now slumbering against his shoulder. It had been such an eventful few days that she had managed to fall asleep in those few story-telling moments.

Tony grinned down at her and murmured, "And so they lived happily ever after as they battled psychotic killers in strange street alleys."

Cars screeching their tires against pavement. The harsh sounds vibrated through the air to the hidden couple. It was ominous, it was nerve-wracking.

"Zi," Tony hissed through a whisper. "I think Azzan's here." He glanced at her and found her still sleeping. He carefully leaned her against the brick wall, but the action awoke her.

"Tony?" she inquired, snapping back to reality.

Tony pressed his index finger to his lips, hoping she would understand what was going on.

The sounds of angry Arabic tongues chattering echoed dimly back to Ziva and Tony's ears. They exchanged wary looks as the voices became angrier and louder.

"They must've found Hopkins," Tony captioned.

"Shh," Ziva silenced him, straining her ears to listen for more.

The sounds grew louder. Men shouting and bickering and yelling—all of the sounds grew in volume.

Ziva and Tony clutched one another's hands, hoping that the men wouldn't go down 8th Avenue. Perhaps they would skip it all together and go to 9th. Perhaps pigs would fly.

The voices were so near. How close were they now? Twenty feet, thirty at best?

Tony's eyes roamed over every inch of this simple brick alley. Brick, brick, brick—the whole damn box was encased with brick! Why had he chosen this place to hide? It seemed so stupid now. He had taken Ziva, searched for the mouse trap, and then sat patiently, waiting for the trap to snap. He had guided them ignorantly to their deaths.

The voices were so close. Ziva held onto her breath as she waited, but Tony released his in small puffs. There's was no hope left for escaping; why waste the energy he had preserved on false hope?

But then the voices died out. Silence slapped their eardrums, taunting them at the climax.

Ziva and Tony exchanged confused looks, waiting for the voices to resume.

"Ziva," Azzan announced gaily, stepping around the corner. His sun-beaten skin was covered in dirt and sweat. His face wore a crazed expression, a face desperate for something. "You should have learned that you cannot hide from me. Mossad trained us both."

Tony glared at the man, never a fan of being ignored. He pointed the acquired gun at Azzan. "We're not doing this, Gorion. This ends now."

Azzan's two followers snapped their guns to attention, quickly training them on Tony's heart.

Azzan show a lesser reaction: the corner of his mouth edged upwards into a smirk. He knew he had the upper hand, and he planned to taunt it. "Come now, DiNozzo. You have no part in this; I only bear an ill will towards Ziva and her father."

Ziva raised her chin at him in defiance. "Let him go then if your words are true."

Azzan shrugged, casually waving his hand towards the open street behind him. "He was only an incentive for Hopkins, and can now benefit me no longer.

"Go," he ordered Anthony. "Preserve your life."

"Not without Ziva," Tony defied through gritted teeth.

"She cannot be saved," Azzan stated. His voice was unwavering as he raised a third gun against the couple.

Ziva's hand itched for a weapon of her own. Alas, there was none to bear. "Leave, Tony."

"No." He was beginning to sound like a child desperately attempting to retain his faith in a lost fantasy. A saving fate: that was his fairytale.

Azzan cocked his gun. "Your death will be a message for your father. The last of his spawn to die at another's hand. Then, he will realize what I have in store for him."

Ziva braced herself as she looked Azzan straight in the eye. If she was to die, she wanted him to watch as she crumbled into a corpse. She wanted this moment to haunt him for the rest of his life just as the lives she had taken continued to haunt her. They had been friends, Azzan and Ziva. And now she wanted her death to play like a broken record, over and over again until it drove him to the brink of insanity.

Tony tightened his grip on his gun. He wanted to just take Gorion out right here and right now. But he knew that the second he did, the guards would kill Ziva anyways without a second thought. He could only wish that something interfered. "Last chance, Gorion—Drop your weapon."

Azzan ignored Tony and tightened his index finger on the trigger. "I will meet you in the next life, Ziva."

The shot rang out, quick and fast.

Tony, believing the bullet to have been expelled from Gorion's barrel, shot towards the three opponents.

The guards only saw their leader go down. But before they could let out another bullet, shots from various directions were fired through their skulls.

Azzan and his two guards were down, the two guards instantly killed as Azzan slowly bled out from his chest.

Tony looked to Ziva for injury, and she looked surprised and hollow. Her complexion was unhealthily pale; her vacant eyes stared at Azzan. But, despite the crossfire, she had miraculously only suffered an emotional trauma.

Azzan coughed blood, letting the ruby red drizzled down his chapped lips. He looked at Ziva with a questioning look, as if she was then one who had just stripped him of the rest of his life.

Ziva stepped towards him, and Tony tried to pull her back. She shrugged him off and knelt down in front of Azzan. "You were too bent on revenge," she accused, watching him with pity in her eyes. "It has destroyed you."

His lips spluttered out drops of blood before they moved into speaking. "Eli David killed my family. He needed to know what it is like."

Ziva felt an irrational pity for him. Like so many others, his family had been taken too early and too soon. But Azzan had been her friend through adolescence. She couldn't ignore that now. Not when she was the one who had to relive his death for the rest of her life. "It was not right, and it was not fair. But we must all face the consequences for what we have done." The weight of Ziva's last sentence pressed heavily on her soul, causing her to ache with grief for all of the lives and families she had robbed as a Mossad agent.

Tony stood behind the scene as Ziva muttered an apology to Azzan Gorion and his family. Although he believed the bastard should rot in hell for all of the damage he had caused, he knew this would be beneficial for Ziva.

Gibbs and McGee stood a few feet away, not needing to interrupt.

However, Abby had become impatient and ran up to Tony. She embraced him tightly and rushed, "Tony! Are you O.K.? You were nearly killed!"

Tony gave a half-hearted smirk. "We're O.K., Abbs. And I think we all nearly died."

Ziva straightened, not meeting the other's eyes. Her face was plastered with dirt and fatigue, echoing the past events.

Gibbs watched her, his warm gun still held in a loose grip. He knew her feelings all too well.

"Come on," he encouraged the agents gruffly, yet sympathetically. "Let's go."

The agents, along with a forensic scientist, shuffled towards the NCIS vans, leaving their past few bleeding days dying behind them.

* * *

><p><strong>The next chapter will be a conversation between Gibbs and Ziva. (And, of course, more Tiva.)<strong>

**Anything you want to see before the story closes its curtains?**

**Reviews are gratefully welcomed. Thanks for reading. :)**


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